


Between Love and Skate

by dettiot



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Cutting Edge AU, F/M, Oliver pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-12 04:12:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 43,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3343235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dettiot/pseuds/dettiot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an injury ends his chances for a career in professional hockey, Oliver Queen doesn’t know what he’s going to do.  And then he gets an offer to become a figure skater and partner with a beautiful, babbling blonde skater: Felicity Smoak.  With a gold medal at the Olympics on the line, can love stick its landing?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is an Olicity Cutting Edge AU. This fic is all [MachaSWicket](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MachaSWicket/pseuds/MachaSWicket)’s fault. Oh, and [callistawolf](http://archiveofourown.org/users/callistawolf/pseuds/callistawolf)’s, too. They both highly encouraged me to write this, so here we are. Thanks to scu11y22 on Tumblr for being such a great cheerleader for this fic. I anticipate posting a chapter a day (excepting Monday) until I’m done, to help carry us through this dark period of no Olicity fluffiness on the show. I think this fic will definitely meet your USDA requirements for cheese and fluff. :-)

“It’s one o’clock!”

The more he stared at his watch, the less the numbers changed. It was one o’clock in the afternoon, and he was supposed to be on the ice _now_ , warming up before the US hockey team took on Russia in the Olympic semifinals.

“Mmmm?” murmured the girl next to him--a skier, if the posters on the wall were anything to judge by.

Oliver Queen, starting center of the US hockey team, leapt out of bed and started searching for his clothes and his athlete badge. “I’m late. I’ve got a game! A game I’m an hour late for, Mary.” 

Dimly, as he grabbed his jeans and yanked them on, he heard the girl say, in a German accent, “Mary?”

Oliver paused, frowning. “Carrie?”

The girl glared at him and Oliver went back to finding his clothes and putting them on, because he definitely did not have time for this conversation. But as he walked to the door, he stopped and looked at her. “Terri?”

If looks could kill, this girl was chopping up his body and feeding the pieces into a woodchipper. “Sherry!” she yelled, grabbing a glove and throwing it at him as he escaped.

XXX

He was okay, he was going to make it. Coach wouldn’t bench him if he was a little late, right? Not for the semis, with the gold medal game on the line?

Hefting his gear bag, red-white-and-blue and emblazoned with his name and jersey number, Oliver ran for the player entrance to the ice complex. The security guard, who looked like a man born to be called Pops, stepped out of his booth and watched as Oliver approached.

“Queen, US Hockey!” he yelled as he ran past.

Distantly, he heard Pops say, “Damn, son , they’re just ‘bout to start!”

 _Yeah, tell me about it_ , he thought, running as fast as he could. On the bright side, it looked like he wouldn’t need the second helmet he normally used before games.

Running flat-out like he was, it was natural that he wasn’t able to stop when the tiny blonde turned the corner and came directly into his path.

They collided, Oliver falling to one knee as the blonde--some kind of figure skater, he knew from her skates--sprawled out on her back.

“Sorry!” he said, picking up her skates and handing them to her. “Has US vs. Russia started yet?”

“What?” she asked, blinking up at him with big blue eyes.

“US vs. Russia! Hockey! Now?” he snapped, feeling impatient.

“Oh--I don’t know, I don’t play hockey,” she said, pushing herself to her feet gingerly. “Not exactly the body type for it. Not like you.”

Oliver held back a snort. She barely came to his shoulder and looked as big around as his pinky--she definitely wasn’t a hockey player.

“Sorry, I’m late,” he said, taking off down the hall towards the locker rooms.

Later on, Oliver would realize that this was how he met Felicity Smoak.

XXX

As Ivanov--a real dick ever since junior hockey days--shoved him against the glass, Oliver wondered if they were going to get out of this game alive.

That made him grin. And it was the grin that put the Russian team on notice. Oliver Queen might be the best skater on the US team--but on a team full of badasses, he was also the ultimate badass.

The level of play became rougher, harder, as period two ended and period three began. Commentators said it was because Russia was hungry, having lost the gold medal three out of the last four Olympics, and was on the verge of being shut out of the gold medal game thanks to the play of Oliver Queen.

And then everything changed, when a Russian player slammed Oliver into the boards after he scored the game-winning goal.

Oliver felt his head whip to the side as he was checked. He had received too many concussions over the years to count, but this felt different. He felt woozy immediately, his vision doubling and his knees giving out. Another Russian checked him on the way down, and Oliver hazily realized his helmet had come off before his head hit the ice.

XXX

“Oliver, you’ve experienced a fifty percent loss of the peripheral vision in your right eye.”

“Yeah?” he asked, feeling his mother squeeze his hand from the seat next to his. “But it’s temporary, right?”

“It’s a permanent injury, I’m sorry to say.” The doctor, white-coated and bearded, looked perplexed. “Oliver, this injury--for normal people, it’s difficult. But for a hockey player . . .”

“So what?” Oliver asked, leaning forward. “There’s gotta be something. Stem cells, you shoot seaweed up my nose--”

“Oliver,” his mother said, looking apologetically at the doctor.

“I’m just saying, there has to be some treatment, right? A cure?”

The pause before the doctor spoke--how long it was, how weighed with something unspoken--made fear creep into Oliver’s heart for the first time since he hit the ice. 

“I’m sorry, Oliver.” 

Oliver looked at his mother, then back to the doctor. “Are you saying . . . ?”

The doctor took a deep breath. “In my professional opinion, your eyesight won’t allow you to play hockey at a competitive level. I know this is hard to hear, Oliver, but . . .”

As the doctor kept speaking, Oliver felt himself zone out. Because how could this be happening? He was Oliver Queen, hockey player. Eleven different NHL clubs had been jockeying to acquire him even before the Olympics, where he had been having a career series. He had scored the fucking game-winning goal in the Olympic semifinals!

This couldn’t be the end, right?

XXX

_Two Years Later_

Oliver hoisted his battered USA Hockey bag out of the bed of Chad’s pickup truck, calling out that he’d be ready at seven, before he headed over to the Penalty Box. It wasn’t much, but it was the best hockey bar in the whole state of Minnesota. And his best friend ran it.

Pushing open the front door and heading for the back room, Oliver waved to Helena and called out to Tommy, “Make me a sandwich, okay?”

Instead of getting to work on the sandwich, Tommy followed Oliver. “Listen, buddy . . .”

“What, Tommy?” Oliver asked as he opened his bag, pulling out his supplies to prep for tonight’s game.

“You know things haven't been so good lately . . .” Tommy began. 

“You run a bar in Minnesota, Tommy,” Oliver pointed out. “Business will only get better after we win the league championship tonight, too. You get like this every year around now.”

“Yeah, well, this year is worse,” Tommy said, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Between the tire plant closing and my dad dying . . . I’m tapped out. I can’t keep the team going.”

Oliver blinked, dropping his stick and standing to look Tommy in the eye. “What are you saying?”

Tommy looked back at Oliver, his face resolute. “I’m saying the team’s done. Tonight’s your last game.” He paused and stepped towards Oliver. “I know how much it means to you, but c’mon, Oliver, it’s just a bar team--you should be playing for the North Stars. Even the Kings,” he said with a lopsided smile, referring to Oliver’s favorite team and Tommy’s most-hated team. 

Oliver swallowed, feeling his throat tighten. “Tommy . . .”

“It’s a damn bar league,” Tommy said. “Even with your eye, you’re better than this. You’re meant for something more.”

“No NHL team will even give me a tryout!” Oliver exploded. “I spent over a year chasing a dream I couldn’t have anymore--and now that I’m finally in a good place, you’re gonna take away one of the only things I’ve got left?”

“Not all of us have mommies supporting us, Oliver!” Tommy snapped, only to immediately look contrite. “I didn’t mean that.”

“No, you did--I know you did,” Oliver said coldly. “If you can’t keep the team going, that’s that.” He picked up his bag, heading for the door.

“Oliver! Don’t be like this,” Tommy said. “I’m your oldest friend.”

“Yeah, you’re my oldest friend,” Oliver said, pausing to look back at Tommy. “Doesn't mean you’re my only friend.”

XXX

With a grimace, Oliver picked up a hammer and got to work.

Ever since he had burned his bridges with Tommy, nothing had gone his way. Life was pretty boring without his best friend. He got up, went to work on whatever construction job the company had booked, came home, ate some Dinty Moore, then hit the ice. Hours of speed work, stick drills--anything to keep himself in condition. Just in case one of his letters or emails paid off.

There had to be some team willing to take a flyer on him. He’d even take a minor league team. Anything--just as long as he was playing hockey.

Without hockey, his life didn’t make sense. He’d been playing since he was five years old, when his dad had put him in his first pair of skates and handed him a stick. Robert Queen’s dreams had only extended to his son playing for Harvard--but Oliver’s dreams were much, much bigger.

But ever since the Olympics, ever since the bronze medal the team had won in his absence, the medal he had thrown into the Mississippi because it wasn’t gold--Oliver knew he was destined to win gold at the Olympics. He just needed someone to take a chance on him.

But until then . . . he had to finish framing in this sunroom addition, so the drywall guys could get to work. Pulling himself up and wrapping his legs around the beam, Oliver lifted the hammer and banged it against a nail half-heartedly.

“You’re bigger than I thought.”

It was a male voice, which made Oliver pause. “Sorry, buddy, only girls are allowed to tell me that.” He turned his head, catching sight of the man who went with the voice. A man who was frankly massive. “Although I could say the same thing about you.” 

Lowering himself down, Oliver faced the man who had interrupted his work. Whoever he was, he made Oliver feel puny. His arms looked like tree trunks and his shoulders were so broad, he wasn’t sure how the man got through doorways. But his face was impassive as he looked back at Oliver.

Something about him seemed a bit familiar. “Are you the Wolf?” Oliver asked, feeling a glimmer of hope.

The man chuckled. “No, I’m the медведь--the Bear. John Diggle,” he said, holding his hand out to Oliver.

“The Bear?” Oliver asked, shaking his head. “What team are you with?”

“I’m not with a NHL team, Mr. Queen,” Mr. Diggle said, eyeing Oliver. “But I am here with an opportunity for you.”

Oliver frowned. “An opportunity.”

Mr. Diggle smiled a little. “Could be nothing. Or could be everything.”

With that cryptic statement, John Diggle opened up the duffle bag he was carrying and pulled out a pair of skates. Oliver was ready to protest that he had skates when he realized--

“Those are figure skates.”

XXX

As the limo pulled up in front of the house that was really a mansion, Oliver felt his jaw drop. Sure, he’d moved in some rich circles back in the day, partying with kids whose fathers were execs at Best Buy and General Mills and had the houses to go with that, but it was nothing like this East Coast wealth.

Mr. Diggle, who Oliver had taken to calling Digg, grinned at him. “It’s something, isn’t it?”

Oliver nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

“Just wait until you see the rink,” Digg said. “Private ice, right on the property.”

Glancing over at him, Oliver wondered what Digg’s story was. When what Digg was offering had sunk in, Oliver had a lot of questions. Digg had answered them, but when it came to his own history and credentials, he had dodged the questions. So Oliver had looked him up. John Diggle, known as the Bear. Only American to hold a coaching position with the Moscow Ice Ballet, widely reputed to be one of the finest judges of skating talent and ability on Earth.

For a hockey player, Oliver always had a reputation as a really good skater. It was something he had taken pride in, something he had worked on up till now. Because skating didn’t depend on his eye.

And that was why Digg had approached him.

“I coach a female pairs skater who needs a partner. Someone special, someone unique. If you’re willing to work--to learn how to be a pairs skater--I think you could go far. Certainly a lot farther than you have so far,” Digg had said, eyeing Oliver’s tool box. “You’d get a free trip to Westchester, New York for your troubles. What do you say?”

Putting it like that, Oliver couldn’t really come up with an objection. So what if he lost his job with the construction company? It was just a way to fill his days. And yeah, figure skating was pretty lame for a hockey player . . . but it wasn’t like anyone was beating down his door for him to play hockey.

So he’d agreed to try out. To put on a new kind of skates, to come to New York and meet this girl who couldn’t keep a partner, to let Digg see him in action. No one else had ever given him that much in the last two years--what did he have to lose?

Digg stepped out of the limo, gesturing for Oliver to follow him. “Your bag will get taken to your room in the guest house. Let’s go to the rink so you can meet Felicity.”

Nodding, Oliver got out of the car and followed Digg. “What’s the story on this chick? Why can’t she hold on to a partner?”

Giving him a long look, Digg spoke slowly. “I think you should draw your own conclusions about Felicity. Although you should know she’s the closest thing to a daughter I’ve ever found in all the skaters I’ve coached.”

Hmmm. Oliver nodded again, keeping his thoughts to himself. Namely that this Felicity was probably some rich bitch with a chip on her shoulder and an indulgent daddy--someone who couldn’t skate and had enough money to surround herself with people willing to lie to her. She probably had a fancy wooden box designed for an Olympic gold medal, Oliver thought as they approached the long, low building that held the rink.

With his massive arms, Digg easily slid open the door to the rink. Soft classical music met Oliver’s ears as he stepped inside. He was about to say something to Digg about how pristine the ice was, when his words--and everything else--was arrested by the skater on the ice.

First off, she was tiny. Thin, with delicate-looking arms and a swan-like neck. Then Oliver noticed the blonde hair, a mess of curls pulled back into a ponytail, and her bright pink lips. Last but certainly not least was the dreamy expression on her face as she glided over the ice, her blue eyes soft and unfocused.

There was none of the edge that he had seen in other elite athletes. Nothing sharp or hard in her. She was all curves and softness, and Oliver had to wonder how this girl was as good as Digg had hinted she was.

The music drew to a close as the girl--Felicity--struck her final pose. She saw Digg and her face lit up. “You’re back! Yay! Now I can figure out why--”

Her eyes met his and her voice immediately went silent. For a long moment, Oliver looked right at her and she looked back at him. Then she sighed and turned to Digg. “I thought you agreed with Mom and Dad that it was time to give up.”

“It’s more I let them think that,” Digg said, walking on the ice and resting a large hand on her shoulder. “But I don’t think it’s time to give up yet. Let’s take a chance.”

Oliver watched as Felicity looked up at Digg, chewing on her lower lip. Then she sighed, nodded, and turned to look at Oliver. “Hi. You’re probably going to regret this. So much.”

Regret spending two days with a pretty blonde? _Not likely_ , Oliver thought.

With a grin, he walked towards her and held his hand out. “Hi. I’m Oliver Queen.” He let his eyes flick over her, trying to see how she would react.

“Felicity Smoak,” she said, shaking his hand and looking right at him, even though she had to crane her neck to do so. “You’re that hockey player, right?”

As always, Oliver felt a stab at her words. No matter how things had changed, he couldn’t help identifying himself as a hockey player first and foremost. He nodded. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Not anymore, of course,” Felicity said, dropping his hand. “‘Cause of your eye. Which is a shame, having an injury and not being able to play--I mean, at least you didn’t lose the whole eye. With eyes like yours, that would be a tragedy.” As if she suddenly realized what she had said, Felicity huffed out a breath. “Which I will stop talking about in three--two--one. Hi.”

For some strange reason, Oliver found himself smiling at her. He had definitely been wrong about who she was. There was something disarming about Felicity. Even with having just met her, Oliver couldn’t be offended by her. Perhaps because she seemed so transparent. She thought it, she said it.

It was pretty adorable.

“Thanks,” Oliver said, his smile still in place.

“Why don’t we see what you’ve got?” Digg suggested.

Oliver nodded and moved to a big overstuffed chair at the end of the rink to put on his new skates. He was out of earshot, but he could tell Digg was giving some kind of pep talk to Felicity. Reassuring her.

She was supposed to be one of the best skaters in America, for chrissakes. Didn’t she have any confidence?

Once the skates were laced as Digg had shown him--figure skates were a far cry from hockey skates--Oliver stepped onto the ice. He pushed off, savoring the puff of air against his face as he moved across the ice, then turned to throw up some shavings as he stopped in front of Digg and Felicity . . . only to misjudge how the blades gripped the ice and fall flat on his back.

Digg looked amused. Felicity looked worried. He wasn’t sure if it was for himself or for her--if she was now wondering what kind of partner he might be. Which was getting ahead of things. They were only getting started.

Grimacing a little, he started to push himself up. “Use your toe pick,” Felicity said, offering a hand to him.

“Toe pick?” he asked, not bothering to accept her hand. It was more likely he’d pull her down to the ice with him than she would be able to help him up.

He could see her paste a smile on her face. Her voice was pleasant as she said, “The claws on the front tip of your skate blade.”

Looking down, he saw what she meant. “Huh. Hockey skates don’t have those. Wonder what they’re for.”

“You’ll see,” Felicity muttered as Digg stepped forward, moving them into position.

“Right, Oliver, take Felicity’s hand in yours, and put your other hand on her hip. Let’s just take a few laps around the rink.” 

Nodding, Oliver did as instructed, reaching down to grasp her hip. She gave a little shiver and Oliver couldn’t help grinning slightly. So Felicity was the sweet, innocent type. He took her hand and waited for Digg to count a beat. Then they both pushed off.

 _Man, she was fast_ , Oliver thought. She might be little, but she could fly across the ice. He was having to go at nearly his top speed to keep up with her, especially with the new skates and unfamiliar position he was skating in. It was a hell of a lot nicer holding a girl in his hands than a hockey stick, but the hockey stick couldn’t try and get away from him.

Felicity picked up the pace and his hand slipped off her hip. She moved smoothly forward, transferring her hand into his other hand, the one that had been on her hip.

_What--what was she doing? Oh, Jesus, she was going faster._

Oliver tried to keep up, but his skates slipped out from underneath him and he crashed, on his face this time, onto the cold ice.

There was the sound of metal hitting frozen water and he looked up to see Felicity using the front of her blade--the toe pick--to stop, turn and skate over towards him.

“Toe pick,” she said sweetly, holding up her skate for his inspection, before she skated away, breezing past Diggle. The coach had an ‘awww, shit’ look on his face. One that probably matched the look on Oliver’s face.

Okay, mental note: don’t piss off Felicity Smoak by turning down her help.

XXX

“We’re going to start with the basics: figures,” Digg said, standing in front of Oliver and Felicity. 

“Really?” Felicity asked, sounding amused.

“You know a better way to teach edge control, Coach Smoak?” he asked, shooting her a look as Oliver looked back and forth between them.

Felicity held her hands up and Digg continued. “All right, Oliver, the blade of your skate has two edges: inside and outside. Everything in figure skating is about your edges. You do everything on either the inside or outside edge. So it’s all about transferring your weight from one edge to the other. And to learn how to do that, there’s figures.”

“I suppose that’s where figure skating comes from, huh?” Oliver asked, glancing at Felicity.

“Digg loves figures. He’s still sad they’re not required anymore,” Felicity said, showing a flash of snark. 

Digg raised an eyebrow. “Miss Smoak, please perform a circle eight for Mr. Queen here.” 

With a deep, put-upon sigh, one that contrasted with the way she smiled at Digg, Felicity moved to the middle of the ice. She looked around for a moment, then she moved across the ice, making two circles. 

“All right, Oliver, let’s take a closer look,” Digg said, sounding pleased. He led Oliver onto the ice and they crouched down, Digg going on and on about lobes and tangents and the axis. 

He tried to listen and understand, he really did. But the longer Digg kept talking, the less he understood.

“Digg, Digg,” Felicity said, leaning down and putting her hand on his arm. “Let’s try something else.” She turned to Oliver and gestured for him to stand up. “When you needed to learn something for hockey, how’d you learn?” 

Where was this coming from? Blinking, Oliver looked at Digg, who shrugged his shoulders. Turning back to Felicity, he said slowly, “I just picked up a stick and tried it until it worked.” 

A smile flashed across her face. “Just like I thought--he’s a kinesthetic learner,” Felicity said to Digg. 

“I’m a what?” Oliver asked, as Felicity took his arm and pulled him over to a clean patch of ice. 

“You learn things by doing something, using your body to absorb the information,” Felicity said. “So try to skate a circle. Just skate.” 

Not really sure what she was getting at, Oliver looked at her for a long moment. After all the falling he had already done, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to face more humiliation. But then Felicity gave him a cheerful little punch to his shoulder, with about as much force as a kitten, and he chuckled. 

“I guess I have to listen to you, huh?”

“No . . . although you have to learn this. There’s no way around it.” She paused, then said slowly, “There’s a rink in town with a beginning skating class.” 

Felicity looked over at Digg, a small grin on her face. “Don’t you think Oliver could learn a lot with the other six-year-olds?”

Digg snorted and Oliver felt his eyes go wide. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would,” Digg said, smiling widely. “In a heartbeat.” 

So he was stuck. But there was no way in hell he was going to back down, not after they threatened him with six-year-olds. 

“Here goes nothing, then,” he said, pushing off and doing his best attempt at making a circle, feeling foolish. 

When he finished, he came to a stop and looked at Digg and Felicity. They both bent down to look at the circle, then turned to look at each other. 

“Well?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound as nervous as he felt. 

“Not bad,” Digg said with a grin. “Looks like Felicity was right about you.” 

Oliver looked at Felicity, who had stood up and folded her arms over her chest. Her smile was just a hair past cocky, and she tossed her head, her ponytail bouncing a little. 

“We’ve got a lot more, though. Let’s keep going,” Digg said, standing up and gesturing for Oliver to move with him to another part of the rink. 

As he skated past her, Oliver locked eyes with Felicity, wondering just who this girl was. 

XXX

With a groan, Oliver took the last step down the staircase from his room. Diggle grinned at him. “Sore?”

“How many times were you gonna let me fall on my face, huh?” Oliver asked, trying to move without making his body protest.

“Big bad hockey player like you, I thought you could handle what the hundred-pound blonde was dishing out,” Diggle said with a smirk. “Guess I was wrong.”

Sighing, Oliver slowly followed Digg out of the guest house, heading towards the mansion for dinner.

“You still not gonna tell me why Felicity can’t find a partner?” Oliver asked as they walked. “She seems like she’s really good.” 

Digg nodded. “She is good. You may have noticed the babbling, though.” 

“Um, yeah,” Oliver said, unable to hold back a grin. ‘Babbling’ was an understatement for what Felicity did. ‘Word vomit’ was more accurate. 

“Imagine her doing that on camera, talking about her partner’s butt and how much she appreciated the costume for showing it off, just before skating the long program at the US National Championships,” Diggle said. “The Internet went crazy with it. People started documenting all the times she went on tangents like that, turning her into a joke. Her partner--the second one in a year--dumped her a month after Nationals, and we’ve been looking for someone ever since.” 

“Huh,” Oliver said, thinking that over. 

Digg nodded, remaining silent and leaving Oliver to his thoughts. 

Even with all the falling on his face--Felicity sure knew how to hold a grudge while seeming like she wasn’t--Oliver thought this first day had gone okay. At least he was starting to understand some of the stuff that Digg and Felicity talked about. He was just glad something was going well. 

Unlike forming a relationship with Felicity, who was definitely a tough nut to crack. Because while she was warm and cheerful with Digg, she was unpredictable when it came to interacting with him. He didn’t know what to expect: silent ice princess or babbling skating genius. 

The only thing he really knew about her, from listening when she talked to Digg, was that she had a boyfriend--a boyfriend named Ray who lived in Switzerland. Maybe this Ray liked Felicity better from thousands of miles away? Which was his loss: it wasn’t like Felicity wasn’t pretty. 

And she was a damn good skater, he thought. He’d think that would be enough for someone to partner with her, her talking problem notwithstanding. But it didn’t look that way, since he was here. 

“So tonight, it will be me, you, Felicity, and Felicity’s parents,” Digg said as they entered the house. “Donna Smoak-Lance and Quentin Lance.” He paused, looking at Oliver. “You know who he is?”

“Quentin Lance?” Oliver shook his head. “Never heard of him.”

“Hmmm,” Digg said. “Well, you’ll find out. This way.”

Oliver pursed his lips as he followed Digg. The different last names caught his attention. Combined with Digg’s Mr. Miyagi-type statement, he guessed he was in for an interesting dinner.

Suddenly, Digg held up a hand, stopping Oliver. “Wait out here a minute, okay? I want to check their temperature.”

Shrugging, Oliver watched as Digg entered the room at the end of the hall. Raised voices leaked out when he opened the door, then cut off when the door closed.

He slid his hands into his pockets and looked up and down the hall. It seemed to be some kind of gallery: the walls were covered in photos and framed newspaper and magazine articles. He slowly walked down one side, reading and looking, as a few pieces started to fall into place.

There was some coverage of Felicity, going back to her childhood. There was one shot of her, wearing glasses and dressed in a sparkly pink costume that was half-covered by a ratty purple sweater. She looked very young--maybe seven or so--but the concentration and determination on her face made her seem older than her years.

For some reason, he gazed at the photo for a few moments before moving on--and then he started to realize who Quentin Lance was. 

Former cop. Former figure skater.

There were dozens of photos of the young man who would become Felicity’s stepfather: on the ice, performing charity work, appearing with the celebrities of the day, smiling with a boy who looked similar to him. And at the end of the hall, he found what he had suspected he’d find. A glass and wood display case, empty.

“You look long enough at that, you’ll see an Olympic gold medal.”

The mix of emotions in Felicity’s voice was complex. He couldn’t begin to untangle it all, so he turned to look at her as she walked down the hall towards him.

Dressed in a thick brown sweater and cream-colored pants, her hair in loose curls and a pair of glasses on her nose, this was a much more relaxed Felicity Smoak. She drew up beside him, her arms wrapped around herself. “And if you’re me, you see two gold medals,” she said. “One for me and one for my dad.”

“What happened?” Oliver asked, turning to face her. 

Felicity gazed down at the case. “His partner died. But she wasn’t just his partner--she was his wife, too.” Her eyes were filled with sadness when she lifted them to Oliver’s. “It was a drunk driver.”

Nodding slowly, Oliver watched as Felicity pulled herself together. She cleared her throat and pushed up her glasses. “He missed out on the Olympics, and then he was too grief-stricken to try skating with another partner. So he became a cop.”

“That’s different,” Oliver said, trying to sound light. “Kind of like hockey player to figure skater.”

She smiled a little before shrugging. “Yeah.”

“So . . . I noticed he’s Lance, your mom is Smoak-Lance, and you’re Smoak.” Oliver tucked his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, rocking back on his heels.

Another shrug. “When they got married, I was eight. It wasn’t long after that picture--the one you were looking at,” Felicity said, gesturing towards the photo of her younger self. “I was already competing as Felicity Smoak, so he thought it would be best if I didn’t change it.”

Oliver frowned. It made sense . . . but it sounded like a pretty cold attitude to take towards an eight-year-old.

His thoughts must have shown on his face, because he could see the shutters go down over her eyes. “We should go in for dinner,” she said, turning and walking towards the room that Digg had entered earlier.

It was her family. He shouldn’t feel like he had to warn her off. But Oliver didn’t want her to deal with whatever argument was going on, all by herself.

So with his long legs, he caught up with her just as she opened the door.

XXX

Most awkward dinner ever?

Oliver was pretty sure the answer was yes.

There was Felicity’s mother, who Felicity took after in looks but not personality. As soon as he walked into the room, Donna had beamed at him.

“Well, _you_ don’t look like a figure skater!” She turned to her daughter. “At least there will be no worries about this one dropping you, Felicity.” Then she turned back to Oliver and started up a stream of chatter, slipping in plenty of compliments about his muscles.

Donna was a lot easier to interact with than Mr. Lance. When he laid eyes on Oliver, he immediately stiffened, looking angry. And throughout dinner, he had alternated between grilling Oliver and then Digg, a sour look on his face. What were the chances of a hockey player becoming a figure skater, what Oliver’s background was, whether Digg had really thought this through, did they have enough time . . . ?

The questions left him with a pounding headache before dinner was half-over. But he’d done his best to respond with sincerity, taking Mr. Lance’s questions seriously. Because he knew this was the only chance he was going to get. And it was a good one. A tough one, too--the toughest thing he’d ever attempt, Oliver thought. But another reason?

If he bailed out, it wouldn’t just affect him.

All during dinner, Felicity had stayed quiet, exchanging a few quiet words with her mother. It was only at the end, when Mr. Lance turned to her, that she spoke up.

“Felicity, sweetheart, are you okay with all this?” Mr. Lance’s voice softened when he talked to her. “This is gonna be just as hard on you as it is on Mr. Queen here.”

As he waited for her answer, Oliver found himself wondering how this was going to go. Because he couldn’t get a read on Felicity Smoak. She could be utterly reserved and proper one moment, then relaxed and babbling the next. He didn’t know which one was the real Felicity.

And he found himself wanting to know.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, looking nervous. “Well--I mean . . . I trust Digg.”

“And I’m grateful for that,” Digg said. “But put your cards on the table.”

The smile that briefly lit up her face made Felicity Smoak appear so much happier. It must be some shared joke, something that put her at ease.

Oliver saw Felicity square her shoulders a little as she turned back to her stepfather. “I’m up for it. I know now I’m not ready to quit and if Oliver’s willing, I’m willing.”

Mr. Lance still looked worried. Donna appeared excited. Digg had an air of confidence.

And Felicity looked at him, her chin lifted, her eyes gazing into his.

This might just work.

End, Chapter 1


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to this fic has been amazing! I’m so pleased that so many people are enjoying it. Happy Valentine's Day, y'all!

Being a hockey player wasn’t for wimps. You had to be strong plus a hard worker. Maybe with work you could be good enough, but without talent you’d never be great. But without all the long hours of practice, you would never live up to your potential.

So Oliver thought he knew what he was getting himself in for. A lot of skating, a lot of falling on his ass while he learned jumps and spins and all the other figure skating moves. Sure, it would be hard, but it would pay off.

However, the skating was only the tip of the iceberg. Literally. Every hour of the day was taken up by training. There was nothing else. There was the physical conditioning, like runs every three days in the morning. On the other mornings, there was an hour of weight lifting followed by yoga. Worst of all was the ballet. Oliver thought he was relatively light on his feet--girls had always said he was a good dancer. But grinding in clubs and at parties was very different from pliés and posture exercises.

If it wasn’t something physical, it was meetings with a nutritionist to create a personalized diet, or music appreciation lessons to help him interpret music, or the history of figure skating and analysis of the current politics and partnerships in that world.

That was how he learned a bit more about the world that Felicity and her mother had entered when she was eight. 

“I had been skating about two years--my mother wanted me to do pageants but I talked her into figure skating--and Dad saw me at a competition, when he was there seeing his nieces and nephews compete,” Felicity had explained. 

She left unsaid that Quentin Lance’s brother, Larry, had also been a figure skater and was determined that his children would achieve the glory he hadn’t. That was Digg’s contribution when Oliver had mentioned what Felicity had said. 

“Larry Lance is a dick of the first order, and his kids aren’t much better. Felicity’s lucky that they didn’t want anything to do with her, because they would have eaten her up and spit her out,” Digg said. 

Between working his body to the point of exhaustion and all the new information he was introducing to his brain, Oliver would never be able to remember that first month clearly. It all made hockey camp freshman year of college, the two weeks of intense practice and even more intense drinking, seem like a vacation to the Caribbean. 

The thing that really blew his mind was how Felicity was with him every step of the way. It wasn’t like she didn’t already know how to listen to music or needed any help with her diet (the girl ate like a bird). But she still went to all his lessons and classes. Sometimes she would play around with her tablet computer, the one that never was far from her, but there were plenty of times she would put it aside and help him when he was stuck. 

It gave him another view of Felicity Smoak. Under those curves, she was a lot stronger than she looked.

Yeah, she wasn’t able to lift as much as he did--but she did weights as long as he did. She never complained, never whined. Often he’d see purple circles under her eyes in the morning, but she would just add an extra shot to her one cup of coffee and then give him this little smile. A ‘I won’t tell if you won’t tell’ look as he sneaked a piece of bacon.

God, he missed bacon. And beer. And eating as much as he wanted, and food that actually _tasted_ good instead of being good for him, in a complex balance of lean protein, carbs, and a little bit of fat.

At the end of the first month, their schedule changed. Their rink time increased as Oliver thankfully finished some of those outside lessons. He was glad--he would much rather be on the ice. Even if it meant jumping lessons, trying to figure out how they worked, how he was supposed to push himself up in the air and spin around and then land on a certain edge on a certain foot. And it seemed like he got more glimpses of the real Felicity when they were in the rink.

Her smiles came easier. She talked more--and not just the babble. They had actual conversations. Well, short ones, but at least she didn’t seem like such a stranger. Which was good. It let him relax around her. Get back to some of his favorite habits.

Like doing puck handling drills while the Zamboni resurfaced the ice, keeping up a running commentary of the game he was playing in his mind.

“Ovechkin to Queen, over to Brown, back to Queen, Queen sends to Ovechkin, Ovechkin to Queen, to Brown, Queen takes it, he shoots, he scores!”

Oliver raised his stick in the air, making his own crowd noise before gliding over to where Felicity was sitting, playing with her tablet.

She gave him a tiny smile. “Having fun?”

“Sure,” he said, grinning back at her and grabbing a roll of tape from his gear bag. The handle on this stick was getting hard to grip. “It’s hockey.”

“You make it sound simple,” she said, a wistful note in her voice.

Looking over at her, Oliver quirked an eyebrow at her, the move he had adopted to mean ‘spill the beans’. 

Felicity blew out a breath. “I just . . . I have skating. But it’s not simple.” 

He spun the tape and then wrapped the stick handle with the tape rope while he thought of something to say. “No, it isn’t,” he agreed. “But right now, neither of us have anything other than skating.”

Her lips pursed, then she shrugged and picked up her tablet again.

“Hey, you wanna play?” 

As soon as he made the offer, Oliver wanted to take it back. Because there was no way she would be interested in hockey. She was all . . . classy. Smart. Not a meathead.

Felicity’s head jerked up, her eyes wide. “What?”

In for a penny, in for a pound, as his mother would say. He couldn’t say something else and wreck the trust they were slowly building. “You want to try it?” he asked, holding a stick out to her.

There was doubt in her eyes. Like she wasn’t sure she could do this. And Oliver expected her to give one of those shrugs and turn him down.

“Okay.”

“What?” he asked, surprise leaking out of his voice.

She stood up, setting her tablet aside and walking over to him. She clumsily took the stick he was holding out, and then she does shrug. But this one seemed more like a ‘why not?” shrug. 

“It sounds like fun,” she said, giving him a hesitant smile. “I mean, I’ll be awful and you’ll never score more than you will today, even with your eye--I almost said handicap, which would have been awful, and now I’ve just said it, and--”

Her voice halted and Oliver can’t help grinning, even though normally any reference to his injury would cause a stab of pain. No matter how many years it’s been, there was always a moment of ‘what if?’ when he thought about what happened to him. But he’s noticed that those moments don’t last as long as they used to.

“This is gonna be good.”

And Felicity grinned back at him and stepped onto the ice.

XXX

Of all the catalysts for his relationship with Felicity to change, he hadn’t expected it would end up happening thanks to a sloppy game of hockey and a puck to the face.

But once she got over her guilt for said puck hitting him right above his eyebrow, it was like a flip had been switched. He suddenly got the real Felicity, all the time.

It was kinda overwhelming. And really eye-opening. Because now he got why Felicity had experienced partner problems. She would babble and feel awkward, then she’d close off and give her partner nothing. He could see it in the tapes of Felicity’s routines with her partners--even with the partner that had lasted the longest, Barry Allen. In some performances, there was no connection between them, no sense of them being a pair, even though Felicity said they had been good friends and had stayed friends.

Not that all the blame went on Felicity’s doorstep, he thought. Clearly, her previous partners hadn’t tried to pull her out of her shell--or, according to Diggle, they just made her feel more self-conscious. 

“In pairs, personality is everything,” Digg explained when Oliver had asked him about it. “Felicity sparkles plenty on her own, but she’s like a diamond. She needs the right setting to really shine. And when she’s got that, she brings out something special in her partner.”

It was such a perfect analogy that Oliver was struck speechless. But as he thought it over, he realized that maybe he’s what Felicity needed. Because when she went off on one of her tangents, he lets her. And when she brings herself to a stop, he can never seem to not smile at her. And something about that relaxed her, let her release her embarrassment. 

Oliver has to say, having the partnership elements come easier is a blessing. Because the skating has gotten even harder.

Beside all the jumping practice he has, the slow progress as his body tries to learn, there’s also other elements to learn. They’ve started working on lifts, which meant a very uncomfortable realization about just where his hands are on Felicity in order to perform a hand-to-hand lift. Because yeah, they’re holding hands, but where their hands end up . . . it’s kinda dirty.

To his surprise, Felicity doesn’t seem too bothered by it--by the fact that his hands are perilously close to . . . well.

The whole first lesson, with Felicity in a rig held up in the air by Digg, Oliver’s face was red and Felicity kept sneaking looks at him, her face confused. But then a delighted smirk appeared on her lips and he knew she had figured it out.

And she started teasing him.

“C’mon, Oliver, you’ve got to lock your grip and really press your hands against me. Or else I’m hitting the ice.”

“Listen to the girl you don’t wanna drop,” Digg said, sounding amused yet vaguely threatening.

Now he had a sense of how Felicity felt. Rolling his eyes, Oliver told himself to stop acting like a man and act like a skater. So he did as Felicity said, and it immediately made the lift better. He felt more secure holding her over his head. 

But he really preferred waist hold or hand-to-hip lifts. 

XXX

By the six-month mark, things were looking up. He can handle the lifts, he’s got the throws and the spins. The jumps are still pretty shaky, but Digg told him it’s a matter of repetition at this point.

“You’ll keep working on them right up until the end, and we’ll do our best,” Digg said. “As long as you can land the triple Lutz-triple toe loop combination in the free skate somewhat consistently, and manage the other jumps, you’ll do fine.”

They do the first full, clean run-through of both programs in the week leading up to Christmas. Oliver isn’t sure what to expect. But when he and Felicity strike their final poses, he can’t help grinning at her. Because it’s been a long time since he felt like this. LIke he could do something. There’s pride and satisfaction and giddy joy. 

“Boo-yah!” he yelled, putting both arms up in the air before hugging Felicity.

She giggled as her face ended up against his chest, then pushed him back, her face flushed. “You’re sweaty. Really sweaty.”

Oliver can’t stop grinning. “There’s only one better way to get sweaty. Although that was awesome.”

“Cool your jets,” Digg said as Felicity took a long pull on her water bottle. “Skating cleanly isn’t enough.”

Nodding, Oliver picked up his own bottle and chugged half of it. “What now?” he asked, rolling his shoulders and wishing he could dump the rest of the water over his head.

“Again,” Digg said. “Starting with the short. Gimme a minute to get the cameras set up--I want to be able to review this routine tonight.”

Waiting until Digg was out of earshot, Felicity smiled at Oliver. “Thank God. I need a break.”

With a chuckle, Oliver followed her over to the overstuffed chairs at one end of the rink. As usual, Felicity scooped up her tablet and started swiping away.

“Whatcha doing?” Oliver asked, pulling his chair closer to hers before flopping down.

She looked at him and shrugged. “Nothing much. Waiting for an email from Barry. He’s having problems with his new partner. Well, his new partner and his old coach.”

“Yeah?” Oliver took a large swig from his water bottle, then gestured to Felicity that she should do the same. She had a bad habit of not taking in enough fluids and then getting shaky.

Rolling her eyes, Felicity sipped and then spoke. “When I left, Barry decided to stay with our coach, Malcolm Merlyn.”

After all the studying he had done, Oliver recognized the name. Merlyn had coached the last American pair to win gold at the Olympics, as well as several world medalists in the last ten years.

He was curious about why Felicity had left Merlyn, since she had been trained by him since she was small. But something told him it was a sore subject and he didn’t want to spoil today by opening old wounds.

“What problem is Barry having?” Oliver asked.

Felicity gave him a lopsided smile. “Nothing, really. Barry’s a worrywart. An adorable nerdy worrywart.”

Hearing the open affection in her voice, Oliver had to ask. “Why don’t you skate with him anymore?”

“I . . . I guess . . .” Felicity paused, then blurted out, “Because I retired. After the last Olympics, I retired, so Barry had to find a new partner. And when I changed my mind two years ago, he wasn’t interested in leaving Merlyn and being coached by John. So . . .”

With how she was wringing her hands and barely looking at him, he knew he had blundered into something that made her uncomfortable, which was the last thing he wanted to do. And yet here they were. 

“Hey,” he said, leaning over towards her.

“Yeah?” she asked, chewing on her lower lip.

“If all of that hadn't happened, I wouldn’t be here, y’know. So I think it kinda worked out for the best,” he said, giving her a quick wink.

As he hoped, Felicity laughed. “Save it, Queen,” she said, putting aside her tablet. “Oh, I’ve been meaning to tell you--you’re cheating too much with your edges. Instead of muscling your way across the ice, if you really lean into the edge you’ll be faster. So you can keep up with me and we’ll get more points for grade of execution.” She paused, her head tilting to one side. “I may have made up some visual aids. Video, graphs, et cetera.”

“I think I got it,” Oliver said with a snicker, rising to his feet as he saw Digg coming out of the video closet.

“You say that, but I’ll be watching,” Felicity warned. “And I’m not afraid to go professor on your very nice ass.” She went red, then stepped quickly past him and moved onto the ice, her ponytail flying out behind her as she glided away.

XXX

Oliver wasn’t the nervous type. He didn’t second-guess himself. So the fact that he was pacing outside Felicity’s bedroom door . . . it felt funny. Maybe it was just that it felt weird to be in the house, to be on this floor--to be in one of the private areas of the mansion. In fact, he had never even seen Felicity’s bedroom.

But if he didn’t knock on her door soon, she would open it and see him out here. And he didn't know how she would react to him lurking. And when she left her room, she would be going with her parents to New York City for Christmas. So this was his last chance to give her his Christmas present.

“It’s just a trip down for two days,” she had told him yesterday. “We’ll leave after our morning practice and then we’ll be back late on Christmas Day Not that Christmas means much to me, of course--Jewish here. But we both deserve a day off. I envy you--I’d rather stay here and sleep in and not change out of my pajamas all day if I wanted. Instead, I’ll be . . . socializing.”

The pout on her face was so amusing, Oliver had to laugh. But afterwards, he realized that he wanted to recognize how far they had come. And tell her he knew they wouldn’t have gotten here if it hadn’t been for all the work she had done with him. Because things were good and he felt good and--

The door opened, revealing Felicity, carrying a large tote bag over her shoulder and a suitcase in her hand. She blinked. “Oliver?”

“Hey,” he said quickly. “I wanted to catch you before you left.”

“Um, okay?” she asked, smiling a little even as her eyebrows raised.

God, this was a stupid idea. But it was too late to back down now. He held out the magazine cover-wrapped bundle he was carrying. “I know Hanukkah is over because I checked, but I didn’t know you were Jewish until yesterday. So this was originally a Christmas gift. But . . . happy Hanukkah, Felicity.”

Behind her glasses, Felicity’s eyes looked like blue marbles. “Really? For me?”

When he nodded, he got one of those wide, beaming smiles of hers--the smile that he had never been on the receiving end of before now. It . . . it was something else.

Felicity took the gift, ripping off the magazine covers with abandon. Then her nose wrinkled at what was inside: an Edmonton Oilers jersey.

How stupid was he, giving her that? She hated it, obviously.

“I . . . I don’t understand . . .” she said slowly, looking up at him.

“It--it’s Wayne Gretzky’s game sweater,” he said, shuffling his feet.

Recognition dawned and she turned it around, looking at the back of the sweater. “Wow, really?”

Oliver nodded. “Yeah . . . I got it from a guy who knew a guy--I’ve had it fifteen years.”

“Oh, Oliver--you don’t want to give this to me--it’s so special,” she said, holding it out to him.

“No, I want you to have it,” he said, pushing the jersey back to her.

“I can’t accept this--” she said at the same time, as they began a strange push-of-war. It went on until after one of her pushes, Felicity stumbled, needing to put a hand on his chest to stop herself from full-on colliding with him. They both stopped, their eyes meeting for a moment before Felicity stepped back, her cheeks pink. “Thank you.”

Swallowing, he gave her a nod before turning to leave. “You’re welcome. I’ll see you when you get back.” 

“Wait!” Felicity said, grabbing his arm to hold him in place. “One second.”

He watched as she scampered into her room, returning with a colorfully-wrapped box in her hand. “I’ve been looking for a way to give this to you for days--and now I have one,” Felicity said, smiling as she adjusted her glasses. “Merry Christmas.”

The spark of pleasure at her getting him a gift, at her enthusiasm, made him smile and duck his head. He looked at the gift she had shoved into his hands, rubbing his thumbs against the gift wrap. Then he lifted the lid and sucked in a breath at the tablet inside, the one that looked identical to the one she was always using.

“I thought you’d like something for when we’ve got down time or when we’re traveling. Since you, um, don’t seem like you’re big into tech, I set it up for you.”

Felicity moved to stand beside him, demonstrating the features. “Here’s where you can see the videos of us skating--I never watch them myself if I can help it, but I thought you might be interested. Oh, and I downloaded some hockey apps, but I wasn’t sure if it was still too painful for you, so they’re all in a folder here and you can easily delete them if you want.”

As her purple-tipped finger moved across the screen, Oliver felt a bit breathless. He lifted his eyes to hers, speaking in a voice that was deeper than normal. “Now I’m the one to say I can’t accept this.”

“Oh, please, don’t,” Felicity said. “If you’re anything like John when you travel, I’m helping myself.” 

“Actually, I always slept on bus rides to games,” he said with a laugh. “But . . . but thank you, Felicity.” 

Her smile was small and shy. “You’re welcome. I have to go--have fun with the tablet and email me if you have any questions.”

He nodded, tapping on the email icon. “Wait, it’s already all set-up,” he said in confusion. “How did you . . . ?”

“You need to come up with harder passwords than 1-2-3-4, Oliver,” she said with a smirk. “Be glad I’m just your friendly neighborhood hacker and not one of the malicious ones.” 

Blinking, he watched her turn and walk away. She had hacked his email? Slowly, Oliver grinned. So tiny blonde Felicity Smoak was a hacker. That was unexpected. 

XXX

Oliver stepped into the mansion through the back door and tugged on his bow tie. Being a hockey player meant he rarely had to wear a tux. The last time was probably senior prom, in fact.

But the New Year’s Eve party thrown by Quentin Lance was definitely a formal affair. In a large living room, a six-piece band played standards quietly. Waiters moved around the room with trays of food and glasses of wine. The invited guests mingled, chit-chatting in low tones.

It was the most boring party he had ever seen. This was how the filthy rich partied? This was really disappointing.

Lifting a glass of wine from a passing waiter’s tray, Oliver sipped it slowly as he walked around, taking in a part of the house he hadn’t visited before. The grand staircase came into view and he spotted Felicity. He had taken a step towards the stairs before his brain caught up with his eyes and he stopped to take her in. 

He could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen her in something other than skating clothes. And yes, normally she skated in shades of pink and purple and blue, but he didn’t think those colors extended to her normal wardrobe. The bright colors seemed more like her mother than her.

So he was totally unprepared to see her in a long pink gown, one that left most of her shoulders and back bare. At least, he thought it did; with her hair hanging down all smooth and straight, he couldn’t tell for sure.

And then he saw the tall, dark-haired man beside her, his hand gripping her elbow. As he laughed loudly, Felicity watched him with an amused expression on her face. And then Oliver was turning away, spying Digg and walking over to join him.

“Hi, Oliver,” Digg said, eyeing him over the rim of his glass.

“Hi,” he replied, tossing back the rest of his wine and exchanging the empty glass for a full one.

“Felicity cleans up well. So do you.”

Taking a deep breath, Oliver put on a smile. “Thanks. I hope this party livens up--it’s kinda dull right now. Like a funeral for a beloved aunt.”

“Give it an hour. The hard liquor will come out and then all bets will be off,” Digg said with an air of experience.

With a huff of laughter, Oliver nodded. “Makes sense.”

“Don’t drink too much tonight, Oliver. You guys are on the ice at ten tomorrow morning,” Digg said gently but firmly.

“I can hold my liquor. I learned by the time I was eighteen,” Oliver said to reassure him.

Digg snorted. “Not surprised to hear that.” He pointed at Oliver as he started to move away. “Ten a.m.”

Oliver gave Digg a small, half-sarcastic salute, and like that, he was alone.

But not for long.

“Oliver!”

The voice was giggly and feminine and he smiled a little as he turned around. “Hi, Donna.”

“What are you doing all alone in the corner?” Donna asked, taking his arm and smiling up at him. She was even shorter than Felicity, so her very high heels barely closed the distance between them.

“Oh, just getting a lay of the land,” he said, offering her an exaggerated wink.

Donna laughed and slapped his shoulder. “Oh, you’re so much fun to have around! You should have dinner up here at the house with us some nights. Felicity talks about you all the time.”

She did? He can’t help smiling, but then quickly tamped it down. “I’d like that, Mrs. Smoak-Lance.”

Giving him a look that’s pure Felicity, she said, “Donna, Oliver! Please, humor me into thinking I’m younger than I am.”

He’s not quite sure how to respond--flirtatiously? truthfully?--but fortunately, Felicity suddenly appeared at her mother’s side.

“Mom, don’t trap Oliver into lying just so he doesn’t offend you,” she said with a roll of her eyes, before turning to Oliver. “She does this all the time.”

All he can do is nod, because he needed a moment to deal with seeing her up-close in that dress.

Felicity kissed Donna’s cheek. “Dad was looking for you a little while ago.”

“Oh, Lord only knows what’s going on,” Donna said affectionately, but with a touch of exasperation. “Thanks.” With a smile to Oliver, Felicity’s mother bustled away.

“I am so sorry--Mom’s already had a few glasses of wine,” Felicity said, sounding both resigned and embarrassed. “She gets very flirty when she’s a little bit drunk.”

“No, it’s okay,” he said, unconsciously laying his hand on her shoulder but almost immediately removing it. “I like your mom. She said I should come to dinner more often.”

If she realized how briefly he had touched her and was wondering about his behavior, there was no sign of it on her face. “You’re too nice,” Felicity said. “Most of the time at these parties, she drinks and starts dancing very energetically.” She laughed a little. “You can take the girl out of Vegas . . .”

She sounded so . . . he doesn’t know what the word is. She was a few years younger than him--shouldn’t she be a little bit of a screw-up, like he was at her age? Getting drunk at parties, making out with men she shouldn’t, blowing off her responsibilities? Faced with the daunting maturity of Felicity Smoak, sometimes he can’t help wanting to revert to his high school self, when he had long, floppy hair and everyone called him ‘Ollie’.

A waiter was walking by and Oliver snagged a glass from his tray. “I think you could use this.”

“Oh, sorry--I mean I appreciate it and it’s very sweet, but no thanks.” Her words might be hesitant, but Oliver can hear and see the resolve she’s got in her.

“Why not? Worried you’ll get fat?” he joked, since she never seemed to eat all that much.

“No, no--I just don’t drink. Actually, I’ve never had a drink in my life,” she said.

Oliver opened his mouth to ask why, when Felicity’s face shifted, a smile appearing on her face. “Ray!”

“Hiya, beautiful.” The man he had seen earlier with Felicity appeared at her elbow, kissing her cheek with a smack.

“Ray Palmer, Oliver Queen,” Felicity said. “Ray’s been working in Switzerland with CERN on the Large Hadron Collider.” Her voice was full of pride.

“So you’re the boyfriend,” Oliver said, examining Ray. There’s something about him that Oliver doesn’t like. A smooth, flippant attitude, like a veneer over his real self. It made Oliver worry about what’s underneath. For Felicity’s sake.

Ray’s eyes narrowed a little. “And you’re the guy who puts his hands all over my girlfriend.”

“Ray,” Felicity said, her face flooding with color.

It was a challenge. Oliver knew that. Ray was pushing him--and Oliver was going to return the push. That is, until he looked closer at Felicity and saw her chew on her lower lip, looking worried. Very worried.

She put a hand on Ray’s arm. “I haven’t seen you for over six months . . .”

“If you had retired like we planned, you’d be living with me and we’d see each other every day,” Ray said quietly, his face drawn.

Oliver cleared his throat and held out to Ray the glass of wine he had taken for Felicity. “Then I’ll let you guys enjoy the rest of the party.” 

Felicity and Ray both turned to look at him, their faces equally confused. Oliver gave them both a bland smile, pressed the wine glass into Ray’s hand, and sauntered away.

But once he rounded a corner, he let his shoulders slump, wondering why he had taken such an instant dislike to Felicity’s boyfriend.

XXX

As Digg promised, the party did pick up as the evening went on. Oliver nursed a few glasses of wine and eventually fell into conversation with a few women--two of them were hockey fans, even.

They’ve just finished talking about the Rangers and their chances next season, Oliver arguing that the Kings are bound to repeat as Stanley Cup champions, when the countdown to midnight began.

There’s a lot of laughing as they participated with the countdown. Oliver can’t help smiling as he thought about what the new year held. Skating, getting better, working towards the Olympics. This was the first time in nearly three years that he was excited about the forthcoming year.

Oliver joined in, just as loud as the rest of the party, when the countdown ended and everyone yelled “Happy New Year!” Then he’s kissing each of the women he had been talking to, and getting spun around, towards another clump of women.

When a woman old enough to be his grandmother pulled him down for a kiss, Oliver chuckled and kissed her back, marveling at the strength of her lips.

And as he straightened up and took a step away, Felicity spun right into his path.

She let out a little gasp and Oliver felt his eyes widen. Her cheeks are flushed and her lipstick was a bit smeared--she has obviously gotten her fair share of kisses. Starting with Ray, no doubt.

Sucking in a breath, Oliver knew he had looked at her lips a moment too long. Nearly at the same moment, they both said “Happy New Year.” And by unconscious agreement, they leaned in and kissed each other’s cheeks.

Felicity looked up at him and for a split-second, it’s like he knew exactly what she was thinking. Maybe because he was thinking the same thing as she was. At least, he hoped they were thinking the same thing. But then she stepped back and walked away from him.

Leaving him alone. Alone and wishing he was a little bit drunk right now.

End, Chapter 2


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that there won’t be a new chapter of this fic tomorrow, since I’ll be posting the next installment of Blinded by Love and Daring. So I hope you enjoy what happens today!

As he stuffed a few shirts into his duffle, Oliver told himself that this was a good thing. Going home for a visit, telling his mom and Tommy what he was really up to instead of continuing that lie about joining the Merchant Marines . . . it would all work out.

His mom was bound to be upset he had missed Christmas--he guessed he would have to promise to come home this year to make up for it. That is, if she didn’t disown him for lying and becoming a figure skater.

Although honestly, he wasn’t too worried about his mother’s reaction. If she hadn’t cut him off before now, it didn’t seem likely that it would happen now. He hoped. Not, it was Tommy he was really worried about.

Tommy had topped out on their high school’s JV hockey team. But no one loved the sport more than Oliver’s best friend. He had been the one to encourage Oliver to never give up on playing pro hockey. They had been friends since they were seven years old. What would happen when Tommy found out he was doing figure skating?

Oliver didn’t know. But it had his stomach twisted full of knots.

Sighing, he picked up his duffle and stepped out of his room, jogging down the stairs and checking his watch to make sure he wasn’t going to be late for his flight. When he reached the foyer of the guesthouse, he drew up short when he saw Felicity talking to Digg.

Felicity spotted him and smiled, taking a step toward him and pushing up her glasses. “Hey.”

“Um, hey,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

Her smile was bright and sunny as she held up a DVD case. “I put together a video of our greatest hits. To show your family. You could show them the video on your tablet, I know, but I thought this might be easier.”

He was equal parts touched and horrified. Showing his mother and Tommy and all his old buddies a video of himself, figure skating? He’d get less mocking if he dressed in drag and started singing opera.

Something of what he was thinking must have come through on his face, because Felicity’s face fell, her smile vanishing. “Oliver?”

“I’ll get the car started,” Digg said, patting Felicity's’ shoulder before leaving. The coward.

“Yeah, thanks, Felicity,” he said, taking the DVD from her.

She frowned, her lips pursed. “Aren’t you happy to go home?”

“What--of course I’m happy to go home,” he said, trying to hold back a groan. Because of course Felicity was following up on this. She could be like a dog with a bone when there was something she didn’t understand. “It’s just . . . it’s going to be awkward.”

_Awkward because you’ve been lying to them for nine months? Understatement, Queen._

“Ahh,” she said, giving him a small smile. “Want some advice from someone who’s seen more than her fair share of awkward situations?”

Oliver felt his lips quirk into a smile. “Sure.”

“Make sure you say what’s important. That’s what I try to remember.”

“Say what’s important.” he repeated. “And how does that work for you?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“I’d say 64% of the time, it lets you escape the awkward situation with a reasonable amount of your dignity,” she said, tucking a wavy strand of hair behind her ear and grinning.

Laughing, he reached out and touched her shoulder. “Good to know. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Oh, and just so you know, there’s two different videos on the DVD,” she said, her hands starting to move as they always did when she wanted to emphasize her words. “The first one is to dazzle them with our good side.”

“I’m almost scared to ask about the second one, then,” he said, screwing up his face in mock fear.

She giggled. “You should be. Lots of wacky hijinks. There was just so much footage of you falling on your face . . .”

Oliver smiled, a bit weakly, at her joke. Not because of anything to do with her teasing, but more from the strange mix of emotions he was feeling. The more time he spent with her, the more he realized that Felicity wasn’t like anyone he had ever met--and his relationship with her was equally unique. There was no one like her.

“Felicity, you’re remarkable,” he said, hefting his duffle bag higher on his shoulder.

Her cheeks went a pretty shade of pink. “Thank you for remarking on it.”

The honking of a car horn reminded Oliver of the plane he needed to catch. “See you on Monday. Don’t miss me too much.” He grinned at her, even as he wondered if she would miss having him around.

“Like Scarlett O’Hara, I’ll cry into my pillow every night,” Felicity said, in a passable Southern accent. “Not that I fully approve of _Gone with the Wind_ since it’s, you know, so incredibly racist and rather historically inaccurate, but I like Scarlett and Rhett. And you have to catch your flight, so have a good time, Oliver.” She grinned and gave him a little wave.

He shook his head. “You’ll have to explain that to me when I get back. See you, Felicity.”

And somehow, when he walked out towards the car, he didn’t feel so nervous anymore.

XXX

_Well, that went a lot worse than expected_ , Oliver thought as Tommy stormed out the back door of the Penalty Box. He followed him and found himself seeing something he never thought he would see.

Tommy--laid-back, easy-going, relaxed Tommy--was freaking out.

“I can’t fucking believe it. _Figure skating_ , Ollie? What the fuck?”

“It’s a chance at the Olympics, Tommy,” Oliver said, trying to stay calm. “A gold medal.”

Tommy snorted. “They give gold medals for prancing around in tights?”

Grimacing, Oliver ran a hand over his face and sat down on an empty keg that was by the back door. “C’mon, Tommy.”

“Do you know how crazy this sounds?” Tommy asked, wheeling around to face him. “The odds have gotta be a million to one against it.”

“We’re a long shot, yeah, but so was the US team in 1980, and we both know--”

“No!” Tommy interrupted. “You cannot use the Miracle on Ice to support . . . this. Ollie, it’s more likely that in a year, you’ll be in Disney on Ice playing some dumb-ass prince.”

Oliver frowned. “You really think I’d settle like that?” He could hear the hurt in his voice. The disappointment. And he knew that Tommy could hear it, too. 

Tommy’s head lowered for a moment, before he groaned and threw his hands up in the air. “It’s _figure skating_!”

“And I like it!” Oliver said, standing up and getting into Tommy’s face. “It’s a lot fucking harder than hockey, I’ll tell you that. And we’re gonna do things different. We’re not going to be like anyone else.” 

Tommy went quiet, his face conflicted. Oliver waited him out, feeling more and more nervous as the seconds ticked past. He hadn’t expected Tommy to be this resistant to his new career. Confused, yeah. Maybe a little upset. But wouldn’t Tommy want Oliver to be happy, even if it wasn’t by playing hockey?

“Just tell me they’re not making you shave your legs. Sure, it’s not a good look, the leg hair sticking out through the tights,” Tommy said, his grin growing by the second. “But who’s gonna notice that--”

Mixing a groan with a laugh, Oliver punched Tommy in the shoulder. “Very funny.”

“At least tell me your partner’s hot,” Tommy said, throwing the words over his shoulder as he headed back inside the bar.

“Felicity?” Oliver said, feeling thrown by Tommy’s question. Because .. . why hadn’t he considered if she was hot? That was an instinctive check he did--that any man did--when he met a woman. Yet for some reason, he had never even asked the question, let alone answered it.

“Dude, her name is Felicity? What is she, a Pilgrim?” Tommy chuckled, standing in the doorway before pulling open the door and stepping into the kitchen.

He could hear Tommy bantering with the regulars, making them forget all about Oliver’s announcement. Which was good. It let Oliver figure out why he didn’t know if Felicity was hot. 

Well, actually, he did know. Felicity was smart, funny, sweet, and helpful. She was also hot and attractive--he would even say beautiful. It would be one thing if she was just hot. But Felicity was so much more than just a one-word description. She was just . . . more.

XXX

“Oliver, you can’t deny that it’s a strange transition: going from hockey to figure skating,” his mother said, taking his arm as they left the restaurant.

“Yeah, I know,” Oliver agreed.

Moira Queen pressed her lips together. She might look elegant and refined, but Oliver had heard her use the foulest language imaginable about referees and glare down men twice her size.

Ever since the death of his father ten years ago, his mother had run the family company, succeeding when everyone thought she would fail. And in the years after his injury, it had been his mother’s unwavering support--both emotional and financial--that carried him through.

“Is that all I get?” she asked.

Oliver shrugged. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want to know that this is what you really want,” Moira said as he led her along the street, towards the parking garage they had left the car in. “That this isn’t some overreaction to realizing that--well, to realizing that hockey isn’t your future.”

“It’s not,” he said quietly. “Mom, I’m only getting started, but--but I think I’m good at this. At figure skating. And it makes me feel like a winner again.”

He could see his mother’s face soften at his words and she gripped his arm tighter. “So tell me about your partner,” Moira said. “What’s her name? What’s she like?”

“She . . . she’s great,” Oliver said, shifting his feet a little. “Her name is Felicity.”

“What a pretty name,” Moira said, a smile appearing on her face. His mother had always admitted that she had old-fashioned taste in names. He was just thankful Oliver was a family name, or else he might have been stuck with something really bad, like Albert or Clarence. “Is it an apt one?”

“Huh?” Oliver asked in confusion.

Moira rolled her eyes. “How many times have I told you to say ‘Pardon?’ instead of ‘Huh’?” She overemphasized the ‘huh?’, making it sound even more boneheaded.

Snickering, Oliver grinned at her. “Pardon?”

“As I was saying,” Moira said, acting as if she hadn’t just been grasping for her dignity, “is that ‘felicity’ means happiness.”

“Oh,” Oliver said, thinking that over.

He hadn’t realized the meaning of Felicity’s name. It was an unexpected discovery. And if he had been talking to his mom a few months ago, he would have said no, the name wasn’t accurate. He would have described her as shy, reserved . . . sad.

But now? Thinking of the way she giggled when they did their first clean programs, the silly hand gestures that punctuated her conversation, the intelligence and determination that shone through everything she did . . . 

“Yeah,” Oliver said. “Yeah, her name fits her.”

XXX

As soon as he returned, it felt like each day was only twelve hours, not twenty-four. Every moment was focused on improving or tweaking something: jumps, spins, lifts, death spirals. There were nights that he wasn’t able to sleep because just as he started falling asleep, his body reacted and tried to do whatever element they had been working on that day, even though he was in bed.

Digg had run into his room when Oliver fell out of bed because he tried to do a death drop when half-asleep. And then had laughed really hard. The next day, when he told the story to Felicity, she laughed even harder.

“It--it’s not that funny,” he said, glaring at Digg.

Felicity giggled and rested a hand on his arm. He can’t help letting his eyes look down for a second, taking in the way her hand looked there, before focusing on her. “Two nights ago, I fell asleep at dinner. Did a faceplant into my dinner. My parents--well, my mom--laughed really hard.”

“I bet you looked good wearing your dinner,” he teased.

He felt Digg’s eyes on him, but Oliver ignored him for the moment in favor of watching Felicity. Noting how her cheeks are pink and how she was very carefully not looking at him.

“Digg, has there been any word from USFSA about Oliver’s eligibility?” Felicity said quickly, taking a step back from him and letting her hand fall from his arm.

“Yeah--it’d suck to do all this if they won’t let me compete at Nationals,” Oliver said, turning to look at Digg.

Who certainly didn’t like what he was seeing, if the expression in his eyes was anything to go by But he just nodded slowly before speaking. “I know. Last I heard, they were still considering our application and reviewing the tapes. But we should hear something soon.”

“Great!” Felicity chirped, moving onto the ice.

Oliver took a step to follow her, only for Digg to grab his arm, not nearly as gently as Felicity had. 

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Digg asked, his voice low and firm.

It’s like every time he got called to the principal’s office, every disappointed talk with his mother, and every ass-chewing he’s received from coaches, all rolled up into one very disapproving sentence.

Up until now, he thought Digg hadn’t been bothered by the way he flirted with Felicity. Although Oliver would be the first to admit that the flirting has been a little different lately. More . . . loaded. He thought it hadn’t been that obvious, that it was something that had been kept between himself and Felicity. But with the amount of time they spent with Digg, they must have attracted his attention.

Or, _he_ had attracted Digg’s attention. It wasn’t like Felicity really flirted back with him, unless you counted accidental innuendos as flirting. And it would seem this development didn’t thrill their coach. 

Digg let go of his arm and nodded towards the ice. “Let’s get to work.” 

“Yeah,” Oliver said, stepping onto the ice and doing his best to focus on skating. Skating and nothing else.

XXX

Oliver had just stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist, when he heard a knocking on his door. And it sounded like it had been going on for a while. 

As he moved towards the door, it opened a crack. “Oliver?” Felicity called out.

“What is it?” he asked, pulling the door open the rest of the way when he reached it.

“Oliver, we--oh my God.” Felicity’s face immediately went bright red. Her eyes, which were the size of silver dollars, were fixed on his chest. And she seemed to be holding her breath.

Being naked or near-naked isn’t a big deal to Oliver. He has spent years wandering around locker rooms in towels--or nothing at all--while reporters or coaches were present. And of course, he’s been naked in front of women before.

But this feels . . . different. Maybe because Felicity is so clearly thrown by his bare torso, or because he felt a strange tingle as she took him in.

He cleared his throat. “Um, Felicity?”

“Yeah?” she asked, her voice breathy. Then, as if speaking had broken the spell, she flinched and gave her head a shake. “Right. Didn’t come here to ogle you. I--I just didn’t realize you had all that going on, underneath your clothes,” she said, gesturing at his abs. Her face flushed even more and she took a step back from him. “You--you should put some clothes on.” 

_Yes . . . yes, should definitely do that_ , Oliver thought. He turned to start gathering his clothes, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder at Felicity when he thought he heard her say something. Something that sounded like ‘eep!’

“So--so what’s going on?” he asked quickly, going through his dresser drawers.

“Oh. Right. The reason I came up here. Which is not leering at you. I mean, Digg heard back from USFSA. You’re eligible, so we’re all going out to celebrate.” 

Oliver did a double-take, wheeling around to face Felicity. “Really?” he asked, hearing his voice crack a little on the word.

The embarrassed flush on her face immediately faded, replaced with a small smile. “Really,” she said. “Felicity Smoak and Oliver Queen are officially eligible to compete in the United States National Figure Skating Championships.”

He felt a wide smile appear on his face. “Shouldn’t it be Queen and Smoak? Alphabetically speaking?”

When she smiled brightly and mischieviously at him, he’s hit by a sudden feeling of happiness. Of rightness. He liked being the one she smiled at like that.

“Ladies first, I’m happy to say,” Felicity replied. “So get your clothes on, so we can eat.” 

Before he can say anything more, Felicity turned and left, her shoes clicking against the wood floors. Oliver took a deep breath, gripping his clothes tightly. 

He was in trouble. So much trouble.

XXX

Once he’s surrounded by Digg, Felicity and her parents, and Ray--a guest Oliver was surprised to see--he does his best to act as someone would expect: excited and jubilant. He wondered if he was overdoing it, but honestly . . . it was a party. And having uncomfortable feelings wasn’t in the plans.

“If I get her any higher on that throw triple Axel, they’re gonna need a putty knife to get her off the ceiling, am I right, Quentin?” Oliver said, grinning at Felicity’s stepfather.

“Oh, please don't, I'm not interested in exploring the rafters of the arena,” Felicity said.

“Me, neither,” Ray piped up, his hand wrapped around Felicity's shoulder, like it had been since they were seated.

Digg grinned. “Don’t worry, not even Oliver’s strong enough to do that.”

“Come on, don’t ruin the moment,” Oliver said, nodding to answer Donna’s question of who wanted champagne. “Oliver Queen, license to thrill.”

“That’s right,” Quentin agreed, smiling broadly. “I had my doubts about this--about you, Oliver--but I’ll be the first to admit when I’m wrong.” He held his hand out to Oliver, who shook it enthusiastically.

Donna leaned over to kiss Oliver’s cheek, then reached out to hug Felicity. “We’re so proud of both of you.”

Oliver looked down, starting to feel embarrassed. He knew his mother loved him, but her expressions of emotion were always restrained, as a holdover of her prim and proper upbringing. He wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of such warmth.

Felicity was watching him from across the table, he realized, with a curious look in her eyes. He did his best to smile at her, and she smiled back, before Ray leaned over to whisper in her ear.

Her face fell a little and she immediately shook her head at Ray. Oliver frowned when he saw her lips shape the words, “Ray, no--” but then Ray was tapping his knife against his water glass.

“We’re all celebrating, so let me throw another log on the fire,” Ray said cheerfully. “I’ve asked Felicity to marry me and she’s said yes.”

Donna let out an ear-piercing shriek, Quentin reached out to shake Ray’s hand, and Digg leaned forward to ask about the ring. But Oliver can’t move. Can’t think.

Felicity was engaged.

His eyes snapped up to hers, finding she was already looking at him. Her teeth were sunk into her lower lip slightly. She looked nervous. Worried. Uncertain.

And as he looked at her, Oliver made a decision. Whatever he may be feeling, it doesn’t matter. If he can’t even put it into words inside his own head--something he has tried to do and failed--then it was probably just a passing thing. He hasn’t been around any other women, attractive or otherwise, but Felicity since he started training--it was no wonder if he was getting a bit fixated on her.

If he can’t define this, it doesn’t exist. Not like the love that Felicity and Ray have, the love that let him put a big honking diamond on her finger. A diamond that sparkled as much as Felicity did.

Oliver smiled tightly. “Congratulations.”

Her lips parted, but Ray spoke before she could. “Thanks, Queen. Don’t worry, I’ve already waited this long--I can wait until after the Olympics to take her away from you.”

Under the table, Oliver clenched his hand for a moment, wishing he could drive his fist into Ray’s face. But he tamped down the anger and merely smiled.

He wasn’t going to get in the way of Felicity’s happiness.

XXX

This was the last thing they needed, leading up to Nationals. Oliver knew that. But the tension that now existed between him and Felicity--the tension that must seem like it formed overnight--was thick and suffocating. It was a silent thing, full of heavy looks and unspoken words. Felicity was chewing her lips raw and he made himself stay quiet. If he doesn’t talk, he won’t say something he shouldn’t. Something he doesn’t really mean. But he’s not perfect. There were times when he can’t hold back the words.

Like the day he arrived at the rink early and heard Felicity talking to someone. At first, he thought it was Digg, but as he approached the ice from the locker room, he realized it was someone else.

The man was tall and broad-shouldered. Handsome, in a distinguished actor kind of way. His hands are in the pockets of his coat as he talked to Felicity, his air one of a man who was used to getting his way.

Oliver’s eyes flicked to Felicity, gauging her emotions. Her shoulders looked tense and her hands were pressed against her thighs. Maybe he should interrupt--but not before he knew what he was getting himself into. 

Craning his head, he listened closely, ignoring his mother’s rule that eavesdroppers rarely heard anything complimentary about themselves.

“. . . mistakes have been made, I know, but don’t you want to win?”

“Of course I do. Winning is everything, isn’t it?” Felicity said, her voice rippling with anger. “Even if it means bending the rules, doing the things that aren’t really legal but aren’t illegal either. No, Malcolm--I guess I don’t want to win that badly, then.”

Malcolm? Malcolm Merlyn? Oliver was ready to step forward, to come into view and end this, but he stopped when Malcolm spoke again.

“But you want it enough to risk making a laughing stock of yourself again? Seriously, Felicity, a hockey player?”

Felicity took a step back, her intake of breath audible even to Oliver. Then he saw her shoulders relax, in that gesture he has seen before: when she was getting ready to blast you with some truth.

“You must be worried about him if you’re here. Somebody let you see the tapes we submitted to USFSA, I bet, and you watched them and got scared about your skaters.”

Oliver watched as Felicity moved closer to Malcolm. “You should be scared. Because this hockey player? He’s the best skater I’ve ever worked with. He’s amazing and we’re only getting started.” She paused. “See you at Nationals, Malcolm. Now get out of my rink.”

Malcolm pressed his lips together. “Fine, Felicity. But we both know--this isn’t _your_ rink. And I know there are people other than me who are very interested in your attitude. And your new partner.”

Without another word, Malcolm turned and strolled out, acting like he didn’t have a care in the world. 

Felicity’s shoulders dropped as soon as he was gone, and before Oliver was conscious of it, he was moving across the ice.

When she turned to face him, she wasn’t surprised to see him. Of course not, since she knew he would be here by nine to begin morning practice. But he thought it was more than that. Like she knew he was listening. Watching. So . . . did that mean she meant what she said? Or was it just a ruse against Malcolm? 

A weak smile appeared on her face. “So, we’ve got a nemesis. I’ve always wanted one of those.”

Oliver nodded slowly, trying to process all this. Malcolm’s not-so-veiled threat to Felicity. The way she had defended him to Malcolm, so completely and so passionately. The question of how much she meant that defense of him--but it didn’t change the pressure he felt, to live up to her expectations and not let her down when this was her last chance.

Her last chance because she was getting married.

He took a deep breath. “Listen, can you take off the rock when we’re working? It’s cutting the hell out of my hand.”

His words make her look stricken, and she glanced down at the ring on her finger. She probably hadn’t realized that the ring is impacting their skating. Oliver moved away, not wanting to see when she took it off. Because she was Felicity--even though he was a dick when he asked her, of course she would take it off to help their partnership. 

If only he could do the same for their partnership and get rid of these awkward feelings. 

End, Chapter 3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some big turning points in this chapter. Thank you to everyone who’s been reading this story--and then telling me that they like it!

As Nationals approached, it got a bit easier. At least Oliver was able to find a new normal. It helped that Digg pushed them hard, getting them ready, making sure they’re prepared for what they’re going to face.

But when they step onto the ice in Chicago, Oliver knew from the clenching of his stomach that no matter how much extra skating he had done, he wasn’t ready for this. Because this isn’t about skating: this is about politics.

Seven other pairs are zooming around the rink, attempting to make the most of this practice session. When Digg had told them about the half hour they would sharing the ice with their competition, Oliver had been shocked.

“So, wait, we practice in view of the skaters we’re going up against? That makes no sense.”

“It’s your only chance to try out the ice before the competition,” Digg said. “Trust me, you want to make the most of it.”

Felicity spoke quietly. “And even more than that, you get to feel everyone out. See who’s nursing an injury they haven’t publicized, which partnerships are having problems. If you’re good at noticing those kinds of things, I mean.”

“Which is why I’ll be there,” Digg reassured her. “Just focus on getting a feel for the ice.”

They both agreed and headed up to the rink. But now that they’re here, Oliver felt clumsy and awkward, like he had back in their ‘toe pick’ days when he spent a lot of time falling onto his ass.

Felicity must have sensed how he was feeling, because she kept up a steady stream of chatter, identifying skaters and offering up tidbits of gossip. She had been in the sport for a long time, yet she didn’t seem to have many friends. Most everyone just gave Felicity a little nod, eyed him suspiciously, then went back to work. Oliver guessed Felicity knew a lot about her fellow skaters and was using that info to put him at ease.

“Hall and Bowen: they cry on command--so much that they both wear waterproof makeup,” she said as a pretty blond and an elegant brunette skated past, performing a star lift.

“Laurel and Roy Lance: get too close and you’ll see right through their tough act,” Felicity whispered, turning her back on a mature-looking brunette and a skinny guy with cheekbones that could cut glass.

“Lance, like . . .?” he asked, his eyes locking on hers.

She nodded. “Dad’s younger brother, Larry--he was determined his children would honor the Lance tradition in pairs skating. The first Laurel and Roy--Dad and Larry’s aunt and uncle--they died in a plane crash in 1961, with the rest of the American team traveling to the world championships.”

Oliver looked around the rink again as he took that in. When he saw a gangly young man making goofy faces as he skated by himself, he pointed. “Hey, isn’t that--”

“Yeah,” Felicity said. “It’s Barry, my old partner.”

“Huh. So that’s his new partner? The one he didn’t really have a problem with?” Oliver asked, gesturing to the quirky-looking blonde who had just skated towards the boards to talk to Malcolm Merlyn.

“Sara Lance--middle sister of Laurel and Roy. She’s not so bad. At least, she’s always been nice to me,” Felicity said. Her voice is equal parts hesitant and disbelieving, like she doesn’t really trust Sara. 

Throwing one last look at Sara, Oliver turned back to Felicity, who looked antsy. Maybe they should get back to work. He was just about to ask Felicity what she wanted to work on in their remaining time when Barry and Sara finished a set of spins near them. Barry straightened up and spotted them. “Felicity,” he said, his voice uncertain.

It must be weird, competing against someone you used to skate with. A bit like getting divorced but having to work with your ex. It’s not like in hockey when you got traded to a new team: the partnership between two skaters was a lot more intimate than being on the same team.

Felicity gave Barry a small smile and a wave. “Hi, Barry. Good to see you, Sara.”

“Is this the famous Oliver Queen?” Sara asked in a voice that’s smoky yet little-girl at the same time. She ran her eyes over him and Oliver lifted his eyebrows, wondering what her game was.

“Good luck, you guys,” Barry said, reminding Oliver of a puppy. How did a guy like that survive, caught between Merlyn and the Lances in a rink that Felicity had described as being scarier than a snake pit? 

Rolling his shoulders, Oliver nodded to Barry and Sara and took Felicity’s hand. “Let’s finish strong,” he told her, drawing Felicity away and focusing on their skating.

XXX

Leaning back against the wall of the elevator, OLiver knew he should go rest up for tonight. But that had never worked for him. He always played better when he was tired--it let him play smarter and more efficiently. That was something Felicity was always talking about: conservation of energy, things like that.

And it wasn’t like Felicity was resting, either. Oliver had overheard Felicity talking to Digg about her afternoon plans. Ray had come for Nationals and right now the two of them were out for lunch before visiting the Art Institute of Chicago. 

The elevator dinged when it reached his floor, the doors opening to reveal Sara Lance. She looked up at him with a smile, the dimple in her chin deepening. “Going down?”

There was so much humor in the way Sara said the trite line that he couldn’t help grinning at her. He bowed slightly at the waist, sweeping his arm out in front of him and welcoming her into the elevator. “You talked me into it.”

Sara stepped onto the elevator with a laugh. “Gotta say, now I understand why Felicity has kept you hidden away. I sure would.”

Folding his arms over his chest--not missing how Sara’s eyes tracked the move--he quirked an eyebrow. “You make me sound like the crazy cousin you keep in the basement.”

“I was thinking more of the hot man you keep chained to the bed. Or something like that.” Sara shrugged, her shoulders moving sinuously under her leather jacket.

“You move fast,” Oliver observed.

“What’s the point in going slow?” Sara asked. “So you want to get some lunch? I was gonna get on my bike, drive over to Wrigleyville for some hot dogs.”

Oliver felt his mouth drop open, his arms falling to his sides. “Hot dogs? God, I’d kill for a good dog.”

“Then you should come with me, ‘cause I’m goin to the best hot dog place in Chicago,” Sara took his arm and pulled him out of the elevator. “C’mon, Ollie.”

Huffing out a laugh at how Sara of course hit upon his disliked nickname, Oliver followed her--only to draw up short at the sight of Felicity and Ray in front of him. Felicity’s eyes were wide behind her glasses. “Oliver!” Her gaze flicked to Sara, then zoomed back to his face.

“Hey, guys--hope your lunch was good,” he said as Sara tugged on his arm.

“But--” Felicity started to say, only for Oliver to wave at her.

“See you later,” he said, going with Sara.

Seeing Felicity with Ray was always a punch to the gut. He didn’t want to watch them together. Didn’t want to spend any more time with them than absolutely necessary. And he had a girl who was definitely into him, offering a bike ride and hot dogs. 

He would take what he could get right now.

XXX

There was just enough time to shower and get his stuff together before it was time to meet everyone for the ride to the arena. He had a good time with Sara, laughing and flirting. It was easy and simple, just the thing to keep his mind off performing tonight.

Yawning, Oliver walked into the lobby, joining Digg. “Hey.”

“Hmmm,” Digg said, looking him over. “No nap?”

Doing his best not to shift his feet like a scolded puppy, Oliver shook his head. “Wasn't tired. I never was before a game. My best game, state championships my senior year? I went to an amusement park the night before and stayed there until six in the morning.” 

Digg didn’t say anything, only raised an eyebrow.

“Hey, it’s not like Felicity rested--she was out with Ray!” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Oliver nearly groaned. Because he knew Digg was watching him closely when it came to Felicity, and he was pretty sure Digg wouldn’t hold back if he thought Oliver was going to screw this up.

Thankfully, before Digg could say anything, Mr. Lance and Donna appeared, followed by Felicity. “Let’s go,” Mr. Lance said brusquely. 

“We’re not waiting for Ray?” Digg asked, his head swiveling around.

“He had to leave unexpectedly and go to Boston--consulting with a colleague,” Lance said, stalking toward the front doors of the hotel.

Oliver’s eyes immediately went to Felicity. She’s got her arms wrapped around herself, her head lowered. But then, as if she sensed his eyes on her, she looked up and gave both him and Digg a weak smile. “I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?” Digg asked, resting his hand on her shoulder.

She nodded and stood up straight. “We need to get going. Big night.” Her smile got a big stronger. “Your first competitive performance, Oliver. It’s going to be great.”

“That’s the spirit,” Digg said, squeezing her shoulder and walking her to the exit.

Oliver followed them, telling himself that his stomach had not just rolled with nausea.

XXX

Crap. Crap crap crap crap crap crap shit fuck damn fuck shit _crap_!

Walking out of the locker room and into the backstage area was all it took for his usual pre-game jitters to appear. He had worried it would be pretty bad, since it was the first time he was figure skating in public. In fact, it was even worse than his previous worst time ever, because it took getting onto the ice for his guts to stop churning. But it was a long time since they had practiced this morning, and now he had to wait before they would take the ice. There were three other pairs ahead of them, so it would probably be close to a half hour until they would be skating. 

Oliver felt his forehead go clammy at the thought of waiting. He wouldn’t last a half hour like this. He _couldn’t_.

Swallowing, he grabbed a bottle of water and started sipping it slowly, walking around. He plucked at his shirt, rolling his neck a little and trying to get the collar to stop pulling. At least they weren’t wearing the beaded, spangly, baby-blue nightmares that Donna wanted. Oliver wasn’t sure just how Digg had convinced Mrs. Smoak-Lance to allow Felicity and Oliver to select their own costumes--but he was pretty sure he heard Digg say something about Oliver being ‘too masculine’ for the proposed costumes.

And he wasn’t the only one to be happy about picking their own costumes--Felicity had looked thrilled. “Finally, I can stop looking like a little girl!” she had said with a happy smile on her face. 

They had worked together to pick the color--a dark royal blue--and the overall silhouette, but neither of them had seen the other’s costume. “It’ll be a fun surprise,” Felicity had said, looking excited. 

Although maybe they should have talked more, so he could have found a way to encourage Felicity to pick something more . . . demure, Oliver thought. Because he had just caught sight of Felicity and he felt a bit breathless. 

It wasn't that he was against women showing off their bodies. But Felicity’s costume, with the little sleeves that barely covered her shoulders, and the deep V of the neckline outlined with some sparkly material, and the close-fitting skirt that only reached mid-thigh and had a slit to allow her to skate--it was amazing. No one would mistake her for a little girl.

She had her earbuds in, listening to music with her eyes half-closed as she stretched. Which was what he should be doing, too. And his stomach, for the moment, was settled enough for him to be willing to try. And he wanted to be close to Felicity.

Moving over to stand beside her, Oliver started to do the stretches as Digg had taught him. After a few moments, Felicity noticed him, giving a little jump of surprise. “Oliver, I didn’t know you were there,” she said, tugging out her earbuds.

“I just got here,” he said, trying not to think about his stomach, which was starting to feel like he was on a roller coaster.

Felicity hopped up to her feet. “I’m all done. Let me stash this and we’ll get closer to the ice,” she said, waving her iPod in the air. She reached over and put her hand between his shoulder blades, pushing gently. “Lower.”

His stomach nearly revolted, but Oliver just gave her a tight smile and nodded. “Lower. Gotcha.”

Her face did one of those contortions where she showed multiple emotions all at once, but then she turned and walked towards the locker rooms. He immediately sat up, then scrambled to his feet, taking a few deep breaths and pacing.

Glancing at the video boards, he saw that there was only one couple ahead of them, Lance/Allen. Feeling curious, he moved over towards one of the TVs to watch their routine.

Oliver felt his spirits sink as he watched their competition. It was like both of them had arms and legs that were ten feet long. Digg had pounded it into his head that judges loved extension, when the arms were stretched out and the toes were pointed whenever possible. It was something Oliver didn’t understand and had trouble achieving. But Barry and Sara clearly did understand--and they looked amazing. 

“Oliver? Are you all right?”

Felicity’s voice sounded a bit faint and far-away. Then everything was too loud and bright. He swallowed and looked at her.

And that was it.

He took off at a run, diving for a trash can that was behind a curtain drape, and threw up.

As soon as he stood up, he took a deep breath through his nose and sighed. He walked back towards Felicity and said hoarsely, “I feel better.”

“Yeah?” she asked, her blue eyes worried.

Nodding, he swallowed a few times. “I always used to do that before a game.”

“Oh,” Felicity said, looking a bit relieved. She looked around, giving a sheepish smile to anyone nearby among the skaters and officials who were wrinkling their noses at his puking. “So you’re okay now?” Felicity asked.

“Oh, yeah--I’d puke and then get into a groove after about ten minutes.”

Her eyes went wide. “Our program is two and a half minutes.”

Oliver frowned a little. _Oh, right_. Then he shrugged and looked at her, trying to make a joke. “So eight minutes after our program, I’ll be fine.”

An official waved at them, gesturing towards the ice, and Oliver stepped over to the open gate, tugging at his skate guards. He could see Felicity out of the corner of his eye, taking off her own guards before he stepped onto the ice. He could hear Felicity’s skates hit the ice as she followed him. 

Suddenly, he felt her hand slip into his and she squeezed tightly. When he looked at her, Felicity’s face was nervous and anxious.

“Hey,” he said quietly as they skated towards the center of the rink, “toe pick.” He gave her a wink and a grin, feeling the last of his nerves drift away as she burst out laughing.

When they raised their arms in the joined hand hold that began their program, they were both smiling at each other.

XXX

Sucking in air, Oliver held Felicity’s hand tightly as they skated off the ice to the kiss and cry--the well-known nickname for the area skaters waited to see their scores. He couldn’t believe he had done it. He hadn’t fallen on any of the jumps, he hadn’t forgotten any of the choreography, and he was pretty sure Felicity had achieved maximum air on their throw jump. It was all so overwhelming that not for the first time, he felt incredibly grateful that during this whole crazy experience, he had Felicity here with him. That he was sharing this with her.

Digg was waiting for them, a wide smile on his face. He wrapped both of them in a hug with his massive arms and Oliver laughed. “C’mon, Digg, people will talk.”

Felicity giggled breathlessly and took a seat, picking up one of the waiting bottles of water and drinking as she looked at the TV screen in the front of the kiss and cry, above the area where a cameraman crouched, recording their every reaction.

Sinking down on the stool next to hers, Oliver grabbed a bottle and drained it, feeling his knees bounce up and down as they waited for their scores.

“Relax,” Felicity said, lightly touching his knee. “We did great.” 

Turning his head to look at her, Oliver took a deep breath. “I think I under rotated a bit on the side-by-side triple Lutz. I shouldn’t have gone out today, I should have--”

“Don’t second-guess yourself,” Felicity said quickly. “You didn’t under rotate.”

The crowd started to applaud and they both looked at the monitor as their scores were displayed. They . . . they were in third!

Oliver jumped up, his arms over his head, then picked up Felicity and lifted her high enough that her feet were off the ground. He hugged her, then threw back his head and yelled “Boo-yah!” 

Felicity laughed as she hugged him back. “Boo-yah,” she said, pulling back and then looking down. She grinned at him, so widely that the shadows were finally gone from her eyes, and Oliver grinned back as he set her down. Grinned and felt pure joy.

“Great work, you two,” Digg said, as the NBC reporter appeared and stuck a mike in their faces.

“Felicity, Oliver, how does this feel?”

“Great--better than great,” Oliver said.

Felicity nodded eagerly. “So amazing,” she said, her cheeks pink and a loose curl falling into her eyes. “I didn’t think I’d ever be back here at Nationals--it’s my favorite event, even more than that event in Belgium that gave everyone diamond earrings--”

It was almost audible, the click of Felicity’s jaws as she cuts herself off, and now her whole face was red. Oliver grinned at her, then turned to the wide-eyed reporter.

“We’re also really excited to be in third place going into the long program and we’re looking forward to competing against the rest of the teams,” Oliver said. “Good talking to you.”

He lifts his arm to wave, giving Felicity a little nudge to get her to wave, too. Then he and Digg pulled Felicity away from the kiss and cry.

XXX

The rest of the night was a blur. More press, with Felicity mostly nodding, smiling, and offering a few short answers while Oliver handled most of the questions. He’s not sure if she acted so unlike herself because she was embarrassed by her babble on live TV or because she was thinking about Ray.

It probably made him an even bigger asshole than he really hoped it was the former.

Once they’re showered, finished with the press, and gotten drug tested, Oliver expected to feel exhausted. And he certainly does feel tired, but more than that, he feels jittery and excited, almost to the point of anxiety. He knew he needed sleep, but right now . . . 

The feeling just got worse as Digg drove them back to the hotel. When he followed Felicity off the elevator, Oliver finally let it all out.

“Man, this overnight thing sucks. Why can’t it be a doubleheader? Short program, long program, boom, done.”

Felicity was digging through her duffle, nodding absent-mindedly. “Yeah, I know,” she said around a yawn.

Leaning back, Oliver lightly thumped his head back against the wall. “I mean, enough already. It’s like that--what’s that feeling, not anticipation . . .”

His brain was feeling fuzzy, the right word on the tip of his tongue. Felicity, because she was amazing, offered up a few suggestions, but then it clicked and he’s got it.

“Foreplay!”

She went very still as she stared up at him. “Foreplay?”

Oliver grinned a little. “Yeah, like foreplay.”

“I know what it means,” Felicity said, looking like she had just discovered gravity or something. He doesn’t understand why she’s looking so shocked and confused.

“So wouldn’t you like to just get it over with, then?” he asked, leaning in to her a little.

When Felicity didn’t respond and just kept staring at him, Oliver frowned. “Hello, Felicity? Skating? Nationals? Chicago?” He lifted the bouquet he was carrying for Felicity. “Flowers?”

Felicity blinked slowly, her long lashes brushing against the tops of her cheeks. Then, in a shaky voice, she said, “Sleep. I’d rather sleep.”

He watched as she gave him a weak smile, opened the door and stepped into her hotel room, leaving him alone with her flowers.

Frowning, Oliver looked at the door. “Sleep?” he asked out loud, before shaking his head and walking to his room.

XXX

The next day, in the run-up to the long program, felt endless. There was no practice session today--no skating at all before tonight’s performance. Digg only would allow them to take a yoga class, all three of them going through an hour of gentle stretching and meditation. Then they had one of their standard healthy lunches before Donna joined them to watch a movie. 

Oliver doesn’t miss how Felicity curled up next to her mother, resting her head on Donna’s shoulder as they watch a silly comedy. It made him wonder, once again, just what had happened with Ray. Because what kind of fiancé bailed on such an important event for the love of their life? 

It was always on the tip of his tongue to ask Felicity what’s going on with her, but they’re never alone together, not even before they go onto the ice. Digg stayed with them the whole time. At least his stomach only mildly revolted on him, but Oliver knew it wasn’t enough of a trade-off for what he had endured, spending the whole day just waiting. 

But finally, _finally_ , it’s time to go onto the ice. As they skate towards the center of the rink, hand-in-hand again, Oliver looked down at Felicity. She looked back at him, her face composed. Then, to his immense pleasure and surprise, she said, “Toe pick!” and stuck her tongue out at him. It made him laugh, made him relax even more than he had been last night.

And thanks to that, they skate perfectly. 

Their routine was flawless. Oliver has never felt so in sync with Felicity. Everything felt easy. Natural. Maybe there were errors he didn’t realize, mistakes that could be found by the judges or someone like Digg, but Oliver didn’t think they would find anything. 

He didn’t think about that, though. He only thought about skating and Felicity. 

When they strike their final pose, gazing at each other and breathing hard as their music reached its crescendo, Oliver knew this was exactly where he was supposed to be.

And they were going to the Olympics. He was sure of it. They couldn’t catch Barry and Sara--but Laurel and Roy were vulnerable, since their long program had lower point values than theirs. There was no way that Laurel and Roy would be able to match what Oliver and Felicity had done tonight. It just came down to the math, since Laurel and Roy were had been in second place.

As they stepped off the ice, Digg was waiting for them with a broad smile on his face. He doesn’t have to say anything--they’re all thinking the same thing.

They’re back in the kiss and cry, and both his and Felicity’s knees are jumping. But then their scores appeared, and Oliver felt his heart fall. No, it was worse than that. It was like finding out about his injury all over again. Because they’re in second place, but just barely. Laurel and Roy could easily score higher than them--easily take second place from them.

Easily take the Olympics.

“I--I don’t understand--” Oliver said, looking at Digg. Felicity was silent, chewing on her lower lip, her hand clutching Digg’s in a death grip.

Their coach sighed heavily. “Looks like there’s some judges that don’t like us very much.”

Oliver blinked, still not understanding. “How does that even matter?”

“Because they screwed us over on our grade of execution,” Felicity said, her voice as flat as a pancake. “Higher point values don’t matter if you don’t execute.”

“No, Felicity,” Digg said. “That was some of the finest skating I’ve ever seen.”

He can't sit here anymore. Oliver leapt to his feet, stalking towards the backstage area, knowing that Felicity and Digg were following him. But he didn’t really care, stomping his feet and ranting the whole way towards the large, open area in front of the locker room entrances. 

“We skated our asses off--what the fuck kind of sport is this? Bullshit!” he said, hitting a trash can with the bouquet of flowers he had scooped up off the ice after their program.

Turning around quickly to face Digg and Felicity, he rubbed his hands over his face, bringing them to rest on the back of his neck. He looked at Felicity, whose face was pale. Pale and utterly heartbroken as she stared down at the bright-blue carpet.

“I’m sorry,” Oliver said, his voice choked. “I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough.”

“Hey, now,” Digg said, only to stop as Felicity jerked her head up to look at Oliver.

“Not good enough? Wrong,” Felicity said, walking towards him confidently, her eyes locking on his. “If those judges can’t see your talent, then this whole competition is suspect, really.”

Oliver breathed deeply, trying to get some oxygen past his heart in his throat.

Digg rested a hand on each of their shoulders. “It’s okay. We’ll come back next year even stronger.”

It was tempting to argue with Digg. Ask if next year everyone would suddenly like them. To point out that it was another long four years to the Olympics. Remind him that Felicity was engaged and probably wanted babies before it was too late. 

All the words were fighting to come out, but suddenly the crowd, almost in unison, let out a pained gasp.

In near-unison, Digg and Felicity looked around wildly, then dashed towards a video screen. Oliver followed, utterly confused when he saw Laurel and Roy still skating.

But when he saw the replay, displayed in the corner of the screen, he understood. Laurel and Roy’s costumes for their punk rock routine had suspenders, and somehow, Roy had gotten tangled up in Laurel’s suspenders when attempting a throw jump. Instead of flying away from him and across the ice, Laurel had pretty slammed into her brother’s chest and then hit the ice.

They all stared at the replay as Laurel pasted a smile on her face to hide her pained grimace, got up and continued the routine with Roy. 

Oliver looked at Felicity, feeling the hope and disbelief warring inside himself and seeing the same war within her. Then they turned to Digg. 

He gave them a long look, then grinned and practically waggled his eyebrows. “We’re in.”

“We’re in,” Felicity whispered. Then she smiled, the biggest, happiest smile Oliver had ever seen on her face, before she turned and threw her arms around him.

It was the first time she had hugged him. That felt more important than going to the Olympics.

End, Chapter 4


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to give y’all fair warning, I don’t think there’s any chance of me posting another chapter tomorrow. I’ve more than burned through the cushion I had, so my weekend away will hopefully give me time to write the rest of the story. That way, when I get back you’ll have a nice uninterrupted string of chapters to the end. 
> 
> For those of you who have seen _The Cutting Edge_ , you know what’s coming in this chapter. I hope you enjoy my Olicity twist on these scenes. :-)

When he stepped out of the locker room and saw Felicity standing there with her back to him, Oliver took the chance to examine her. She hadn’t seemed like herself all day, acting unpredictably. Like she was on edge, holding something back. Even with that, he was still surprised to see her here, obviously waiting for him. Her hair was loose and wavy around her shoulders, looking a bit damp from her shower. She was wearing well-fitting jeans, boots and a purple sweater, her hands in the pockets of her jeans. When she saw him, she smiled. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he said, smiling back. Happy to see her, happy to know that this--their partnership--wasn’t over yet.

“So . . .after you won a big game. What would you do?”

Oliver laughed a little. “Go out. Find a bar that didn’t mind a hockey team taking it over. But with how we drank, no bar ever seemed to mind too much.”

Felicity giggled. “I bet.” She looked up at him for a moment, her lower lip caught between her teeth and an assessing look in her eyes. Then she said in a rush, “Let’s do that.”

“What?” Oliver asked, blinking at her.

“Let’s go out drinking. Partnership exercise,” she said, her face and voice working overtime to talk him into this. She was all wheedling tones and big, pleading eyes.

“I don’t understand--I thought you don’t drink?” he asked, remembering their conversation on New Year’s Eve.

She nodded. “I don’t. Because of my dad--I just thought it seemed dangerous. Because anything that impairs you to the point that you can hit someone with a car and not realize it . . . that’s really scary. But--but I trust you, Oliver. I know you’ll take care of me.” She stopped and smiled suddenly. “After all, you throw me across the ice every day. It’s easy to believe you won’t let anything bad happen to me.”

For a moment, all he can do was stare at her. Because her words made him feel breathless. She _trusted him_. Not only to keep her physically safe, but to protect her. Just thinking about this made his stomach swoop, which was fucking ridiculous, but damn it, he _wanted_ this. He wanted to have a night out with Felicity, seeing what she’s like when she’s gotten a few drinks in her. He wanted her to have a break from whatever was bothering her, from the strain he can see in her face and her frame. 

Swallowing, Oliver nodded. “Okay. But as the vi--as the first-timer,” he said, stumbling as he nearly said ‘virgin,’ which was the last word he wanted to be saying to her--”you get to pay.”

“No problem,” Felicity said with a grin. “Here, leave your stuff with mine--Digg’s going to take it back to the hotel.” 

As soon as he set down his bag with hers, she grabbed his hand and pulled him along, leading him to the taxi rank outside the arena.

Her mood was a bit manic, and Oliver knew he should stop this. Ask if she was okay, get her to talk to him, find a way to go out with her and not involve alcohol. But . . . but if he did that, tonight would probably be over before it even began. And don’t they deserve some fun? After more than a year of work, they are going to the Olympics. It wasn’t the time to talk and be serious. There's plenty of time for that later.

Tonight was about celebrating and having fun with the one person on Earth who knew why they needed this. The person who felt the same way he did.

So once they’re in the cab, he gave the address for a bar he had visited the last time he was in Chicago: a place with good music, a big dance floor, and two-dollar tequila shots.

XXX

“You’re sure about this?” Oliver asked Felicity as the bartender set them up.

She nodded, her eyes taking in all the prep before lifting to meet his. “Whatever you’re having.” 

He can’t help smirking a bit. If Felicity ended up doing more than two shots, he’d skate in a tutu. But he’s not about to tell her that.

Once he had unbuttoned and rolled up the sleeves of his button-down to mid-forearm, Oliver licked the inside of his wrist. He let his eyes linger on Felicity's face, watching for her reaction. Her eyes widened slightly as he shook some salt over his wet skin and then licked it away. He picked up the shot and saluted her with the glass before easily throwing it back. As he popped the slice of lime into his mouth and bit down, Felicity’s forehead creased in thought.

It was really adorable, how focused she was. Oliver grinned and pulled the lime slice out of his mouth. “Okay, your turn.”

Her face the picture of concentration, Felicity nodded. She pushed the sleeve of her sweater up towards her elbow and delicately lapped at her wrist, her tongue looking even more pink than her lipstick. She shook some salt over her wrist and licked it, a grimace immediately appearing on her face. She grabbed the tequila and drank it, impressing Oliver that she could take the shot on her first try. When she lowered the glass, her eyes were wide and Oliver chuckled as he handed her a lime. She sucked on it hard, her cheeks hollowing out, before her face smoothed out and she looked relieved.

“So? What do you think?” he asked, leaning in towards her.

“Am I supposed to feel like I’m on fire?” she said loudly into his ear, trying to be heard over the music.

Snorting a little, he smiled at her. He was about to ask her if she wanted another one, or if she would like some nachos, when she got off her bar stool and took his arm. “Let’s dance!”

Oliver wasn’t opposed to dancing. But it has always felt like a means to an end. A way to get a girl interested in a different kind of dancing. So he should turn Felicity down, but instead, he got up and followed her.

It’s nice to see that while Felicity Smoak was graceful on the ice and drew plenty of praise from their ballet instructor, she doesn’t really know how to dance in a club. She’s way too enthusiastic with her arms and she has no game, fast dance-wise. But it’s kind of fun to dance silly and just do whatever felt good. After about twenty minutes, they go back to the bar for another shot. Felicity waved a hand in front of her flushed face, stirring the wisps of hair that were sticking to her temples, then pulled her sweater over her head.

There was a split-second when he wasn’t sure if he wanted her to be wearing a top underneath or not, which showed he was really kind of an asshole--and a dumb one at that. Because there was no way Felicity would sit across from him in a crowded bar in just her bra.

She was wearing a bright blue tank top, one that showed off her arms. They looked so soft in spite of the muscle he knew existed underneath her skin. He wondered what it would be like, to reach out and stroke his fingers over her upper arm.

He gestured to the bartender for another shot, slamming it back quickly. Felicity mock-pouted at him. “No fair, you’re ahead of me. And that’s not allowed.” She turned to the bartender, giving him a wide smile as she pounded on the bar and said “Another!”

The bartender laughed and poured her the shot, his eyes lingering on her. Oliver glared at him and thankfully, the bartender stepped down to the other end of the bar, leaving them alone.

Felicity took her shot, a drop of tequila ending up on her cheek. She let out a softer, sexier version of her normal giggle. “Oops. Can you do body shots with yourself? Oh, wait, I kinda already am.”

Leaning his arm on the bar, he laughed at her. “Right,” he said, unable to look away from her.

“Oooh, tequila is nice,” she said. “This is great. Thank you, Oliver.”

“You might not think so in the morning,” he said, bending down to get close to her. 

Her shoulders, which were perhaps his favorite part of her, rose and fell in a shrug. “It’s an experience. I don’t have a lot of those, Oliver. You know why? Because I’ve competed in the Olympics. To do that, I couldn’t do what other women my age do. No getting drunk, no going to college, no one-night stands. I want those things. I want experiences. Y’know what I mean?”

Oliver nodded, completely content to sit here and listen to her talk. And watch her mouth as she did so. 

As quickly as it started, her philosophical mood ended and she wiggled on her stool in time with the music. “Oh, I love this song!”

She was back on the dance floor in a flash, and Oliver winced a little before getting up, too. He steadied himself with a hand on the bar--it had been a while since he had taken in this much tequila. But he couldn’t leave Felicity alone out there. A tiny, hot blonde would be subject to way too much of the wrong kind of attention in a place like this. 

And maybe he just really liked people looking at them and knowing that she was here with him.

This time, though, Felicity was less geeky and unrestrained in her dancing. She moved in close to him once he joined her, one hand resting on his shoulder, helping her balance on her feet. He lightly settled one of his hands on her hip, being careful to not let his fingers wander. Her eyes were closed, which was good because it let him look at her as much as he wanted. But it was bad because he missed her eyes.

The longer they danced, the more all those feelings of his were tickling at the edges of his mind. Whispering that he should stop holding back, stop keeping himself in check. She’s here, he’s here, Ray’s not--

Like a bucket of cold water, the name of Felicity’s fiancé pulled him back from that scary ledge. Reminded him that he might not be much of a man, but he wouldn’t come between Felicity and the man she really loved.

Felicity’s eyes popped open and she looked up at him. “Hey, what’s wrong?” she asked, her words slightly slurred. 

“What makes you think anything’s wrong?”

“You got all tense.” She looked at him and smiled. “Let’s have another shot!”

That was a bad idea. She was definitely tipsy--another drink would push her into drunk territory. And since that would be new territory for her, and he’s starting to feel the tequila, too, it would be best if they didn’t. 

Of course, he nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

She beamed at him and yanked him back to the bar. She gestured for another round and then looked up at him, her eyes narrowed.

Then, to his absolute and utter shock--not to mention total, immediate arousal--she reached out and wrapped her fingers around his wrist, bringing it up to her mouth.

The touch of her tongue and lips against his skin nearly made him flinch, because he was wondering if he was dreaming. If Felicity was really licking salt off his wrist before she lifted her shot, her eyes locked on his before she threw her head back and drank down her fourth shot of tequila. The line of her neck is really long and so fucking sexy, he doesn’t know how he doesn’t lean in and kiss the hollow of her throat.

_She’s drunk_ , Oliver told himself. _She's drunk and she’s engaged and she doesn’t know what she’s doing to you. And she trusts you_.

Moving fast, his hands shaking a bit, Oliver did his own shot. Felicity pouted. “Hey, you were supposed to--” She waved her wrist under his nose, her lack of coordination evident as she brushed her fingers against his cheek and then his lips.

And maybe his lips puckered a little so he could kinda kiss her fingertips, but he couldn’t help himself. 

Felicity didn’t seem to notice what he had done. Instead, she sighed and leaned into him, her head resting against his shoulder. “Oooh, I think I’m drunk.”

The scent of her hair drifted up to his nose and he sighed, too. Suddenly he felt so tired. Tired and done with torturing himself like this.

Quietly, he spoke into her ear. “Let’s get you back to the hotel.”

She nodded, nuzzling her face against his shirt, and Oliver tried not to breathe deeply as he gave the signal to the bartender to cash them out. But while he waited, Oliver closed his eyes and just let himself be. Giving himself over to existing in this moment with Felicity.

XXX

The cab ride had been quiet. Mostly because Felicity had cuddled up against him, her head on her shoulder as she dozed. But that meant her body was pressed up against his side for the whole thirty-minute ride. He was supposed to be putting her at arm’s length, but here they were, Felicity practically snuggling him in her sleep and him trying not to do the same to her. He had to keep repeating in his head that she trusted him, that she was depending on him to keep her safe. 

It was wrong that trust turned him on, wasn’t it? Trust was something you only got in a relationship, and he had never had one of those. Had never wanted one. But he wanted one with Felicity, if it gave him more of this feeling. This feeling of electricity surging through his veins. 

And he’s so drunk. Not on booze, but on Felicity, he thought. It was why, when they got out of the cab and Felicity broke the heel on her shoe, he started laughing right along with her. He’s so turned on he can barely see, he’s sick with longing, and he’s half-drunk. It’s amazing he was able to laugh at all, but this whole situation was so damn ridiculous. 

The broken heel on Felicity’s shoe made her walk crookedly as she took a few steps towards the doors of their hotel. She reached down and plucked off the shoe, gazing at it in such confusion that Oliver laughed harder. Even in the worst of times, she could make him laugh.

Felicity laughed, too, then started hopping on her shod foot. “Oh, this is hard . . .” she said, not a hint of a whine in her voice. That was one of the the things he loved about her: she wasn’t a whiner.

“C’mere,” he said, turning so his back was towards her and crouching down. “Hop on.”

“Ooh, yay, a piggyback ride!”

He was laughing so hard at the glee in her voice--so unrestrained and open and amazing--that he doesn’t realize what this meant. But when she climbed up onto his back, he was shocked into silence. Because Felicity getting a ride from him on his back meant her arms were around his neck, her breasts were pressed against his back, and her thighs were wrapped around his waist.

Even with all the ways he touched her during their routines, this feels so . . . It’s different. Maybe because she was touching him, Oliver thought dimly. Felicity squirmed a little, letting out a small grunt of discomfort, and he quickly grabbed her under her thighs, just above the creases of her knees. “Okay?” he asked, hearing his voice catch a little as she relaxed against him.

“Mmm, yes,” she said, her voice sounding sleepy. “My hero.”

Snorting, Oliver started carrying her towards the elevator. Felicity rested her head against his back, murmuring softly, then let out a soft laugh.

“Okay back there?” he asked, the silence feeling too thick for his comfort.

“Mmmm-hmmm,” Felicity said. “Mom was right.”

“Right about what?”

She giggled. “No worries about you dropping me. You’re all muscle-y. Well, Barry and Connor and all my other partners had muscles--really good butts, too. Every single one--male figure skaters have the best asses around--but none of them had muscles like you. You’re gorgeous, Oliver.”

Oliver’s not sure, but he thought she rubbed her face against his back, like a kitten against its owner’s hand. And it’s sweet and adorable, and shows her trust in him. It’s also hot. So hot, in a way he doesn’t understand. But he tried not to think about that as he stood in the elevator, giving Felicity a piggyback ride.

When they reached Felicity’s room, there was some fumbling as she went through her purse, searching for her key but refusing to hurry this up by climbing off his back. He doesn't exactly mind, though, because now that they’re at her room, it means this was almost over.

Once they get the door open, Felicity laughing a little at the gymnastics they had to perform, Oliver carried her inside. He was tempted to drop her on the bed, but at the last moment he set her down in a chair by the large window overlooking the Chicago skyline. Turning around to face her, he gave her a loose smile.

She beamed back at him. “Wanna dance? Wait, there’s no music.”

“Right. And you need water and and some aspirin and then bed,” Oliver said, hunting around until he found a clean glass. He carried it to the bathroom to fill it with some tap water, hoping that would be okay for her.

“Awww, that’s no fun. You were so much fun tonight, Oliver! Not like you’ve been since I got engaged. When you got all broody.”

He froze, her words hitting him right between the shoulder blades like an arrow hitting a target. Did she suspect how he felt about her? 

“But you don’t have to be Mr. Broody McBrooderson anymore,” Felicity said, her voice bubbling over with fake cheer. “We’re through.”

Turning around so quickly some water slopped over the rim of the glass, Oliver stared at Felicity, who had unbuttoned her coat and tossed it aside, leaving her in her sweater and jeans.

“Ray and I. Our engagement. Finito,” she said, staring up at him as he slowly walked over to hand her the water. As she drank, she kept looking at him, over the edge of the glass. He felt like a bug under a microscope. 

At a time like this, in this kind of situation, Oliver knew what he should say. He should tell her he was sorry, ask if she was okay, offer to find Ray and punch him for hurting her. And he was very willing to go punch Ray, and he definitely wanted to know if she was okay. But the thing was, he couldn’t tell her he was sorry.

Oliver wasn’t sorry, not even a little bit, that Felicity wasn’t engaged anymore. Because that meant maybe he could figure out just what it meant, this knot of emotion inside him. And he could kiss Felicity now, too. But no--she was drunk, he was definitely feeling the tequila, there were the Olympics . . . 

His thoughts were so blurred that it took him a moment to realize Felicity had moved. She had gotten up from her chair, so much shorter than normal without heels or skates adding inches of her height. And then she was stepping close to him, and her hands were on his shoulders, and her face was so close because as she was lifting up he was bending down--

“Felicity,” he said, his voice low and deep. He was going to say this wasn’t right, but the words got stuck in his throat when she brushed against him.

“Oliver,” she whispered, her eyes fixed on his mouth.

God, this couldn’t happen like this. He didn’t want to kiss Felicity for the first time and only taste tequila. He wanted to taste _her_. And he wanted her to want this. Because how did he know that she wasn’t looking at him and imagining Ray? He didn’t even know who had broken the engagement. If Ray had been the one to break things off, everything about tonight could be Felicity reacting to that huge change in her life. 

This was the hardest thing he would ever do. But he had to do it. There was too much on the line to fuck this up.

He stepped back from Felicity. She swayed a little, then stepped forward, back into his personal space.

This time, he lightly pressed his palms against her shoulders, keeping her half an arm’s length from him. “Felicity, don’t.”

“Don’t what?” she said, pouting up at him, an expression that on any other woman always looked manipulative. But on Felicity, the pout was . . . enticing.

Swallowing, Oliver held her away from him. “You’re drunk.”

“So what if I am? I’m a genius, y’know. Mensa membership card and everything. If it wasn’t for skating--if my parents didn’t need me to skate so badly--I’d be at MIT right now. Did you know that, Oliver?” She looked up at him, her hands holding on to his wrists. “I’d be at MIT. I’d study in the library. I’d go out drinking with my friends--’cause I’d have friends,” she said defiantly. Like he might doubt that Felicity would be surrounded by a huge circle of people, drawn to her sweetness and humor and inner light. 

She had paused, lost in her thoughts for a moment. Then she opened her mouth and with one sentence, she changed everything. “And I’d find the hottest guy I’d ever seen, a man that all the girls wanted, and take him home with me.”

The whole time Felicity was speaking, Oliver knew his eyes were getting bigger and bigger. Yeah, he knew she was smart, but Mensa? That was seriously amazing. Discovering that she skated for her parents’ sake and not for her own pleasure was less of a surprise. Although his heart went out to her, hearing the longing she had for a life of her own, a life that was so normal.

But when she started talking about picking up a guy, Oliver felt . . strange. Was she talking about him? Did she feel something for him, something like what he felt for her?

Or was he just an adequate substitute? A placeholder for the mythical hot guy of her fantasies?

Oliver didn’t know what to say. What to do. Until Felicity let go of his wrists and moved away from his hands. She stared at him, then she pulled her sweater off, dropping it on the floor.

“If you hadn’t noticed, I’m throwing myself at you,” Felicity said, in a soft, seductive voice. Sounding like something out of his dreams. Then she was close to him again, sliding her arms around his neck and arching against him.

She was so beautiful . . . and this was so wrong.

“Felicity, no--” he said, trying to push her away. She wiggled against him, holding on tight, until he managed to step back from her. 

“God, why does nobody want--” she said under her breath, before she glared at him, the sparkle of tears in her eyes. “I thought hockey players were party boys. Booze, girls, good times. I guess not. Get out.”

He knew she was angry and hurting and drunk. But it was hard to hear her say that. To hear Felicity, the most positive, supportive person he knew, break down and lash out like that. He didn’t think she meant it. He hoped she didn’t, at least. Because if that was what she thought of him . . . there was no way she actually cared about him. 

She wanted him to leave. He should do that, because if he stayed, they would only do something they would regret. Like fighting . . . or possibly fucking. Not making love--fucking. And he didn’t want to do either of those things with Felicity.

Taking a step back, he took a deep breath. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Felicity sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Fine,” she said, her voice broken, before she turned and flopped onto her bed, still dressed except for her shoes.

Normally, he’d try and make her more comfortable. But Oliver gave no thought to helping her get ready for bed. Not with her angry words still between them. Not with how he was feeling. Instead, he left her room, went back to his, and headed straight for the minibar.

XXX

After three miniature bottles of booze--two vodka and a gin, for anyone keeping track, which was no one--Oliver realized he had been mostly successful in blocking the memory of Felicity’s sadness. Pushing aside how he could hear the regret, the ‘what ifs’ in her voice. He knew what it was like to wonder about how his life might be different, how he might be different. He didn’t know that Felicity did, too.

It made sense. With what he had seen of Felicity with her mother and stepfather, it was no big surprise that she had put aside her own dreams and desires in order to live theirs. To be the pretty little doll her mother wanted, to win an Olympic gold medal for her stepfather. 

But he was pretty sure he would need a lot more liquor to forget how Felicity felt, pressed up against him. So soft, yet with an inner strength that made him think she could hold him up when he needed it. Could meet him halfway as they came together.

_If you hadn’t noticed, I’m throwing myself at you_.

Groaning, Oliver grabbed another bottle of gin and twisted the cap off. Holding it up to his lips, he drained half of it--an easy feat for a former hockey player like him, a guy who knew all about booze and women. Even if he wasn’t like that anymore. But then there was a knock in the rhythm of ‘shave and a haircut’, making him stop drinking and look over at the door.

If it was Felicity on the other side of the door, Oliver wasn’t sure he could be held responsible for his actions. And thanks to the booze puddling in his gut, he didn’t really care right now. Pushing himself to his feet, he stumbled to the door and opened it, leaning against the door jamb and blinking. 

This wasn’t the blonde he had hoped to see.

Sara Lance gave him a coy smile, twisting a lock of her hair around a finger. “Hi, Ollie. Has anyone told you that you've got a great sit spin?”

She was hitting on him. No, more than that: she had shown up at his hotel room and all-but offered him sex. They both knew it. There were no strings attached, no feelings--just the potential for some hot, mindless sex.

Right now, that seemed like the best idea ever. Because he was tired of wanting what he couldn’t have.

Why not have something--have _someone_ \--even if it wasn’t who or what he really wanted?

Slowly, keeping his eyes locked on Sara, he moved back so she could step inside.

And with a tiny little smirk and a toss of her hair, Sara walked into his room. Oliver shut the door behind her and told himself that this was okay. It wasn’t a betrayal. 

But he knew he was lying to himself, even as he leaned down to kiss Sara.

End, Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know--that was a really evil place to leave this story. But I assure you, it’s all gonna work out and I’ll be back with the rest of the story next week!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To save my sanity, especially since I got really sick while I was on vacation, I’ll be moving to an every-other-day posting schedule for this fic until the end. I do have a bit of a cushion that I think there won’t be any more delays until the conclusion of this fic. I hope you enjoy this chapter, even if things are a bit fraught between Oliver and Felicity. Many thanks to MachaSWicket for the figure skating help!

Over the years, Oliver had enjoyed his fair share of sex. He liked girls, they liked him, why not spend a few hours of pleasure together? He’d never gone very long without sex. Even in the blurry aftermath of his injury--blurry because of all the whisky he drank--there had been no real pause in the line of women he had slept with, one-night stands, and “friends with benefits.” 

He used to think that was all he would want. Until last night. Because he hadn’t known that sex with the wrong person could leave you more frustrated, more lonely, than a year of abstinence. But then, he had never felt for a woman like the way he felt for Felicity, so he just hadn’t realized . . .

Rolling out of bed, Oliver walked into the bathroom, avoiding the mirror. Not wanting to look at himself. But then, he gritted his teeth and made himself look.

His hair was a mess of spikes, his eyes were bloodshot, and there was a smear of lipstick clinging to his lips. A faint red, not like the bright pink that Felicity--

Oliver sucked in a breath. No. He wasn’t going to lose his shit like this. What was done was done. He had gone out drinking with his partner, a girl who’d never had a drink in her life, who came on to him under the influence of tequila. Turning her down had been right. The only thing he could do as a man who might be an asshole, but not that kind of asshole.

But he was enough an asshole to find some other woman to sleep with when he loved--

“Damn it,” he muttered softly. He couldn’t do this. Couldn’t keep going over and over last night, because it all kept coming back to the same two things: he wouldn’t have slept with Felicity under those circumstances and he shouldn’t have slept with Sara. But there was no way to change the past. He could only take care of here and now, and that meant getting a shower, getting Sara out of his room with a minimum of hassle, and getting to Felicity so he could check on her.

Starting the shower, he pushed off his boxers, leaving them on the floor. He made sure the water was hot as he could stand before stepping in, the needles of water driving into his muscles. This place might not believe in towels, from the meager selection placed in the bathrooms, but they hadn’t skimped on the water pressure.

Slowly, he started to feel more human. Less beaten down. There were remnants of a headache lingering just behind his eyes, but some coffee and a greasy breakfast would take care of that.

And that was probably what Felicity needed right now, too. Once he had let Sara know how things were, he’d go see Felicity. If they were lucky, she wouldn’t even remember what she had said last night. And if she did remember . . . he wanted to make sure she knew there was no reason for her to feel embarrassed about what had happened. Putting aside his crazy intense feelings, he didn’t want to lose the connection they had. The Olympics were in less than six weeks--they needed to focus on that. Focus on training hard so they could compete with the best in the world. If she pulled away, like she had with her other partners, they wouldn’t be the pair he knew they were. They wouldn’t skate their best. And they deserved each other’s best.

Because he wanted Felicity to get that gold medal. Maybe then she would be able to quit and get the life she really wanted. The life she wouldn't confess to wanting without a lot of alcohol.

With his mind made up, Oliver rolled his shoulders and finished his shower with a blast of cold water. As he stepped out of the bathroom, wrapping a towel around his waist, he saw that the bed was empty and Sara was at the door, wearing his button-down from last night.

“Is that housekeeping? Ask for some towels if you want to--”

But then he saw who was at the door, standing in front of Sara.

Felicity’s hair was loose, but instead of last night’s loose waves was now all messy bedhead. She wore sneakers, yoga pants, and a t-shirt with the words _Winter is Coming_ on it. And her eyes were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. 

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. He could only watch as Felicity’s mouth fell open, as she slowly lowered her shades to reveal wide blue eyes, full of shock and hurt and anger.

Without a word, she turned and vanished from the doorway. Not caring that he was in just a towel, Oliver took off after her.

“Felicity!” he called as he ran after her. She was just as fast off the ice as she was on it, but she had to wait for the elevator doors to open, giving him the time to catch up with her just as she stepped onto the elevator.

“Felicity, please--”

“No!” she snapped, whipping off her sunglasses. When her eyes connected with his, he could see the change that came over her. For some reason the anger drained away, leaving just a deep, tired sadness.

Oliver felt his stomach drop. He could handle anger: screams about betrayals and sleeping with the enemy, Felicity telling him he was nothing more than a douchebag. But he could not handle this Felicity, who looked so resigned and heartbroken. Because seeing her like this made every bad thing he’d ever done pale in comparison to hurting her.

She dropped her eyes, looking at the floor. “Never mind. I was--I don’t know.”

“No--no, Felicity, you have every right to be mad at me,” he said, not caring that he made no sense. Because did she have any right to be angry with him, given that they weren’t involved? “C’mon, don’t do this.”

“Do what?” she asked, fidgeting with her sunglasses. “Die from embarrassment and shame? I don’t think that’s possible, because if that was a cause of death, I’d be six feet under by now. Mortification can’t kill you.” She glanced up at him and pressed her lips together tightly, immediately dropping her eyes again.

So she did remember. And she was already pulling away from him, making him feel alone and lost, no longer part of a pair. He had to fix this.

“You were drunk last night, Felicity--I knew you didn’t mean what you said. And . . “ Oliver swallowed and pressed on, the words bitter in his mouth. “And I’m sure if you and Ray--”

Felicity shook her head, her hair falling over her shoulders. “Don’t, Oliver.”

“Okay, I won’t talk about--Felicity, I don’t want this to wreck things. That’s all I want.”

Well, no, it wasn’t all that he wanted. Not by a long shot. But he didn’t want Felicity to be hurt. And he wanted her to know that nothing had changed between them on his end.

“It won’t,” she said, quietly. He thought she meant it to sound reassuring, but it didn’t.

It made him worry even more.

The doors of the elevator opened and Felicity brushed past him, walking away without saying anything, without even a glance back. Oliver watched her go and only then realized that he was giving everyone in the lobby a show. And with the expressions on the three women who were right in front of the elevator, including one who was old enough to be his grandmother, he felt his face go red. Quickly stabbing a button for a random floor, he waited until the doors closed to run his hands over his face.

XXX

They just needed to get back home and get ready for the Olympics. Then they would be able to adjust to what had happened. Their memories just had to fade and then everything would be fine.

Throughout the next day, as they performed at the post-competition gala, did press, took publicity photos, and packed for their return home, Oliver kept telling himself that the tension between himself and Felicity would ease up. Things would get better once they got used to what had happened in Chicago. They both knew what was on the line: the Olympics, a chance at a medal . . . the payoff for all the work they had done and everything they had denied themselves. So once they got back to work, things would be okay.

But standing in their rink, fifteen feet of ice between them and the silence so thick and heavy, Oliver wondered how he could have been so wrong. Because getting back home wasn’t making things better. 

Digg stood in front of them, his sleeve-straining biceps crossed over his chest. Oliver had fully expected their coach to take one look at him and blame Oliver for the palpable tension between himself and Felicity. To his surprise, there wasn’t any blame in Digg’s eyes.

There was only worry. The bone-deep kind, like he had seen in his mother’s face during those dark days after the injury. And Digg’s eyes spent just as much time looking at Felicity as at him.

“So we have a little problem,” Digg said quietly. Yet his voice sounded like a gunshot, making Oliver flinch. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Felicity’s shoulders tense and it made his stomach tighten. Actually, he had carried a gut full of knots ever since she had left him in that elevator.

“We also have a big problem,” Digg said, looking back and forth between them. “Rochev and Wilson.” 

Oliver didn’t recognize the names. Felicity's forehead creased in thought, like she thought the names sounded familiar but couldn’t place them.

“Rochev and Wilson,” Digg repeated, as if they should know the names. Then he harrumphed. “They won the European championships last night, with record-setting scores. They came out of nowhere and blew everyone away. And now everyone says they’re going to win gold.”

The pause after Digg’s words was too pointed for it to be anything other than a nudge. A way to goad them into action. Felicity didn't take the bait.

But if there was one thing Oliver Queen could do, it was respond to someone needling him. “Is this your idea of a pep talk?”

Digg shook his head. “No. It’s context for this.” He stepped onto the ice and carefully laid down three sheets of paper, covered in Digg’s scratchy handwriting and little sketches of a set of pairs skaters, going through--

Holy hell, what was _this_?

Felicity ran her eyes over the diagrams, then her eyes went wide. “There’s no way. It’s not possible.”

“‘Not possible’ doesn’t mean impossible,” Digg said, breaking out his Mr. Miyagi approach.

“It’s _illegal_!” Felicity said, looking shocked as she looked back and forth between the drawings and Digg.

He shrugged. “Legal, illegal--it’s a bit of a gray area.”

While they argued, Oliver leaned close to the pages, double-checking to see if he understood what he saw. “Is this a lasso lift into a throw quad Lutz?”

“Something like that,” Digg said, giving Oliver a small smile of pride.

“This is amazing,” Oliver said.

“The trick is the release,” Digg said. “No halfway. When you let go, you have to _let go_.”

There was the slightest emphasis on the words “let go.” Like Digg was speaking only to him. And probably not about that song from that movie that was everywhere right now. Which wasn’t a surprise to Oliver. From the beginning, Digg had made it clear that he shouldn’t get tangled up with Felicity. Even if Digg was sweeping what had happened at Nationals under the carpet and not calling out either of them, it didn’t mean he had stopped protecting Felicity. But Oliver hadn’t been able to stop himself from caring about Felicity, hadn’t been able to hold back, and now here they were.

Felicity was shaking her head. “No. I can’t do this. Digg . . .” Her voice was almost pleading.

Oliver didn’t know what to think. Because the way she sounded, so scared . . . this was more than just her fear of heights coming into play. He couldn’t help wondering if her fears stemmed from him. If she didn’t trust him anymore.

“Yes, you can,” Digg said firmly. “I've had this basic move in my head for twenty years. But I never found the right skaters for it. The perfect combination of strength and willpower.” Digg’s eyes rested on Oliver and then moved back to Felicity. “Until now.”

“And if those Russians are that good, there’s no way we could win without this move?” Oliver asked, wanting to know the truth.

Digg nodded, his face set in an expression of regret. “If you thought Nationals was tough, you have no idea what the Olympics will be like. It’s the strongest field we’ve seen in pairs in decades. So we can’t do this halfway.”

“We can’t pull this off,” Felicity protested.

Hearing Felicity sound so negative, so resistant . . . it made his guts knot up even more. Made him want to deal with the elephant in the room, find some way of dealing with this pressure. So he turned to look at her, his voice harsher than he meant it to sound. “We won’t know until we try.”

Felicity's eyes snapped to his, sparking with anger. “We have five weeks!”

“I can do this,” he said, holding her eyes. “I can make it work. It’s just physics, after all, and I’m only a dumb hockey player.”

Just as he hoped, Felicity’s jaw tightened. She hid it really well, but Oliver knew how cocky she was about her skating. She might not like skating at times, but she sure liked being the best at it. So his implication that she wasn’t good enough to do her part was bound to get a reaction.

Oliver looked at Digg, letting Felicity stew for a moment. “The Diggle. Or maybe that Russian word for the Bear would be better, since it’s gonna chew up and spit out those Russians like bear chow.”

“Are you trying to say I can’t do this?” Felicity asked, snatching up the papers from the ice. “I have been skating for fourteen years and I know when I can do something.” She ran her eyes over Digg’s notes, then looked at Digg. “Let’s get started.”

Handing over the pages to Digg, Felicity turned and skated to the middle of the ring. Digg looked at Oliver, an appraising look in his eyes.

He didn’t know what that look meant exactly. So Oliver just smirked a little before joining Felicity in the center of the rink.

XXX

Five weeks. Thirty-five days. Was it enough time?

That was the question that haunted the team. Would their best be enough to win gold? Could they pull this off? Could they learn the Diggle? Could they consistently land it?

After the first day, Oliver lowered his expectations, asking if they could land it at all. After the first week, he was ready to back out, to tell Digg there had to be something else--do more difficult side-by-side jumps, focus on raising their grade of execution scores, _anything_ except this move.

Because he felt like he was torturing Felicity.

Just getting the timing on the two elements--the lasso lift and then immediately launching Felicity into the throw jump--took a few days. They had to discover if he was even strong enough to do the move as Digg had envisioned it. The lift meant there was no way to build up speed, as you normally did for any throw jump. And with attempting a throw quad Lutz . . . it was a level of difficulty that Oliver knew no one could come close to. But to get Felicity high enough in the air so she could complete all the rotations, without skating into the takeoff, it took brute strength.

Strength and the ability to let go. 

If Oliver didn’t release Felicity at precisely the right moment, it didn’t work. Too soon or too late, the results were the same: Felicity didn’t get enough height to complete all the rotations. And that meant she would hit the ice, painfully.

He suffered muscle spasms, his arms and shoulders and back seizing up from the overwork and the stress. But Felicity . . . she hit the ice on her hips, her knees, her feet skidding out from under her and sending her down onto her backside. He could only imagine the bruises she had--if a stranger saw her, they would think she was being beaten.

But no strangers were around. There was no chance for either of them to see anyone other than Digg, Mr. Lance, and Donna. Oliver couldn’t remember the last time he had talked to his mother or Tommy. When he did something like watch TV or used his tablet.

Their whole world was skating. And that meant there was no time to figure out the issues between himself and Felicity.

He wanted to. So much. If only to find out if she was really okay. To make sure she wasn’t putting on a brave face. To know that she wasn’t putting her parents’ dreams and Digg’s hopes before her physical health and safety.

But any attempts he made, to get them back to somewhere like they they had been, failed miserably. Either he couldn’t find the right words and bailed on the conversation, or Felicity refused to actually have a conversation. She would be all polite and monosyllabic. In some ways, it wasn’t that different from how she was when they first met, just without the skating babble. But it was different. There was a reserve there, a sense of guardedness about Felicity now.

Like she was protecting herself.

It killed him that she thought she had to close herself off from him. But then, he was the one who was causing her great physical pain, all because he couldn’t get this right. Couldn’t find a way to let go.

And really, wasn’t that the most fucking ironic thing about this all? Because he couldn’t figure out how to release Felicity, he was hurting her. Hurting her by trying to hold on to her, hurting her by trying to keep her safe.

Their lives were worthy of an English lit class. There was so much to analyze, so many layers between them. 

This wasn’t what he wanted for them. For her. But he didn’t know what to do. They had to work together. There was only so much time they could spend working on other elements, like Oliver and his jumps and Felicity and her footwork. And with their complete failure to successfully complete the Diggle, it colored everything else.

Digg never wavered, though. His confidence in them never faltered. He was a pillar of strength, of support, of encouragement. Oliver found that it was now that he realized just how much he owed his success to Digg. It wasn’t just about the skating--it was how Digg’s belief made Oliver believe, too.

If anyone was going to get them through this, it was Digg. But Oliver thought it was going to take all his skill.

XXX

They were leaving for Pyeonchang in a week. It seemed like they’ve nearly got the Diggle. Oliver could feel this tingle, like his body almost knew how to do it but his brain is screwing it up.

Like most nights, Oliver and Digg have dinner together, something sent over by the mansion's cook. Since it’s Friday, Oliver was sipping his weekly beer, balancing his desire to savor it with the need to finish it before it got skunky. Digg has joined him, so they’re just sitting quietly and drinking when Digg cleared his throat.

“Look, I haven’t asked because honestly, I didn’t want to know. And because a coach can’t--and shouldn’t--know everything about his skaters. But I haven’t been able to stop thinking that things changed between you and Felicity after Nationals.”

Oliver slowly lowered his beer. Digg’s voice wasn’t threatening or angry. If anything, he was concerned. But there was also a sense that he was just making an observation. If he didn’t want to respond, Digg would let it go. But if Oliver wanted to unload himself, Digg was here.

And honestly Oliver wasn’t sure if he should or not. Because Digg has never made a secret of being Felicity’s protector. It never went so far that Oliver felt like Digg would always take her side over his, though. And it’s not like he doesn’t get it. There’s something about Felicity that brought out the urge to keep her safe. To keep her from being hurt.

“Have you asked Felicity about this?” Oliver asked, fidgeting a bit by slowly peeling off the label from his beer bottle.

“Nope. Not yet. I thought I’d ask you first. Because I have noticed how you look at her, and I know this isn’t a game for you, Oliver,” Digg said kindly.

“No threats, huh?” Oliver said, feeling the need to joke, to release a little of the tension.

Digg grinned. “Nah. ‘Cause what’s the point? You’re already beating yourself up enough for whatever happened, all on your own.”

Groaning, Oliver rubbed a hand over his face. “Okay,” he said, figuring there was no point in holding back now. “So, last night of Nationals, Felicity and I went out drinking. It was her idea,” he explained quickly. “I wasn’t going to let her go alone, and she had been acting so weird . . .”

“Because of Ray. The engagement getting called off,” Digg said.

He nodded. “Yeah. Which I didn’t know about until later that night--did you know?”

Digg shook his head. “Not until a few days later. Donna let it slip to me.”

“Right,” Oliver said, taking a swallow of his beer as he debated how much to tell Digg. “Well, so, we went out and Felicity’s never done that and . . . she said some things she regrets, and the fact that she said them to me . . . it’s made everything different between us.”

From the look on Digg’s face, it was tempting to stop being evasive and lay it all out. Because Digg knew there was a lot being left unsaid. But Oliver’s not sure he can tell anyone what happened that night. Because he didn’t want to remember the things he was trying to forget. Things that would just mess up their partnership even more.

“Have you tried talking to her about it?” Digg asked.

“Yeah, but she doesn’t want to talk,” Oliver said quietly. “You know how it is with her.”

Letting out a quiet snort, Digg nodded. “Yeah. Some days, I almost wish I hadn’t taken this job. Told her parents that she should stay retired. Let her go to school, use that brain of hers for something that really matters. But Felicity insisted that she wanted to come back. And . . . I liked her. She had too much potential, too much talent, to let something like prissy male figure skaters and their egos get in the way. But I knew she needed someone special.” 

He eyed Oliver for a long moment, long enough that Oliver wanted to look away. But he held Digg’s eyes, so he saw Digg smile. “And here you are. Makes me glad I did take the job, because it’s not just about helping Felicity. It’s about helping you, too.”

There was so much meaning in Digg’s words. So much of the faith and trust he’s felt from their coach over the last month in particular, that Oliver has to swallow a few times so he can speak past the lump in his throat. “Thank you.”

Digg held his hand out to Oliver. “Get some sleep. Last week of training, and then the real hard work starts.”

As he shook Digg’s hand, he wondered if he was talking about the Olympics or about what will happen afterwards. Because with all the training and practice and work, it’s been easy to avoid the big question.

What would happen after the Olympics?

XXX

Normally on Saturdays, Oliver slept in a little. Not like he used to, until ten or eleven in the morning or even later. No, in this new life, sleeping past seven-thirty is ‘sleeping in’. But this day, he woke up at his normal time of six-thirty, and he felt so sore and stiff that he decided, for once, to take advantage of the hot tub and steam shower in the physical therapy room in the mansion.

Yes, there was a physical therapy room. Even though Oliver had grown up comfortably, the life that Felicity had, with all the perks and comforts, the best that money could buy . . . it was crazy.

Stepping into the back door of the mansion, Oliver moved quietly down into the basement. As he approached the physical therapy room, he drew up short when he heard music. Easing his way up to the room, he looked through the crack between the door and the jamb and felt his breath catch.

Felicity’s back was to him as she sat in the hot tub. Her hair was up in a messy bun, a few loose strands sticking to the back of her neck from the moisture. Her long, graceful neck, a body part on her that he had found himself thinking about a lot since their night out after Nationals. 

Nearly submerged as she was, Oliver could only see her upper shoulders and arms, stretched out along the rim of the tub. And he wished he could just focus on her softly rounded muscles, could just imagine the smoothness of her skin and get lost in fantasy.

But he can’t. Because he can see how she’s holding herself so tightly. Because there’s an epically ugly bruise, all purple and green, wrapping around her shoulder and upper arm, from a bad fall she took a few days before. Because he knew it was his fault that she’s bruised and exhausted. 

He should just leave. Go back to his room, leave Felicity in peace. But when he moved, something tightened up and he can’t help letting out a soft little grunt at the pain. But the grunt was loud enough to get Felicity’s attention, because she turned around quickly and stared at him.

“Oliver?

“Sorry,” he said, hesitantly pushing the door open a little. “I thought I’d use the shower in here, but I didn’t realize you were here . . .”

Her eyes blinked slowly, then she waved a hand towards the steam shower. “Go ahead. I’m nearly done here.” 

What? He nearly did a double-take. That was not the reaction he was expecting. No babbling, no blushes, no hesitation. Not like how she had reacted, that time she had walked in on him in a towel . . . 

_Which time, though?_ his mind prodded him sarcastically. _When she had just gotten engaged to Ray or when you had just slept with another woman after turning her down?_

Taking a deep breath, Oliver gave her a quick nod and stepped into the room. So she wasn’t interested in checking him out. After all, she had seen enough of him to know who he was. To have formed an opinion of him.

But he had never seen Felicity like this. In so little clothing. But she was bruised and battered, and things between them were so damn uncertain and not good, he knew that looking at her would just be fuel for nightmares, not fantasies. 

So even though it killed him a little to not look, he keeps his eyes away from her in the tub as he started up the shower and turning on the steam function. He paused for a moment, then slid off his coat, revealing how he had come into the mansion: in just the sweatpants he had slept in. 

There was a soft noise and Oliver turned his head a little, but not enough to look at Felicity. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said slowly, then spoke in a rush. “I just--I can see why you need the shower. You look tense.” 

He nearly snorted. She didn’t know the half of it. “Yeah. Well, it’s . . . it’s been a lot of work.”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice soft and gentle. She sounded more open, more her, than he had heard in a while. It made a wave of hope crash over him, made him realize that when it came to Felicity, he would never stop hoping. 

Shifting his feet, he said, “I know we’ve been so focused on training, but are you looking forward to the Olympics? It’s your second time.” 

“Third, actually. I was an alternate eight years ago, with my first partner Connor. We came along because there were injury concerns with one of the other pairs, but they ended up skating. So we basically just hung out and enjoyed Vancouver.” 

“That’s what I really liked last time,” Oliver said. “Seeing other sports, going to the Opening Ceremonies . . .”

Felicity moved around in the tub, and it’s all he can do not to turn and look. But he held back. “Actually, I’ve never been to the Opening Ceremonies.” 

“What?” he asked, finally looking at her in time to see her wrap a robe around herself. 

Turning to face him as she tied her robe closed, Felicity shrugged. “It always seemed like too much of a distraction.”

“But--but it’s so amazing,” Oliver said, feeling confused. “And it’s something that everyone gets to do, you know? It doesn’t matter if you’re a real contender or have no chance in hell: you get to march in the Parade of Nations, you get to represent your country . . .” 

She picked up her glasses, sliding them on and adjusting them a little as she looked at him. “I wished I could have done it. But it just didn’t seem like the right decision, with so much that could go wrong.” 

Oliver opened his mouth to say more, because it felt good to talk to Felicity even if he was going to argue with her, but she gestured towards the shower, cutting off his words. “With all the steam, I’d say the shower is ready. Enjoy it.” 

And with that, she walked out of the room, walking with a slightly rolling pace that told him she was still sore and tense. 

Letting his head hang, Oliver pushed off his sweatpants and stepped into the shower. He hated this. Hated not talking to Felicity, hated how screwed up everything was. 

But as the steam hit him, he felt his body loosen. And with that came an inkling of an idea. A way to maybe, just maybe, start closing the distance between them. 

End, Chapter 6


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots going on in this chapter! But this one is going to set up the ending of the fic, which I think will be soon! But until then, I hope you enjoy today’s piece of the story.

Even with the pressure and worry of competing in the Olympics, Oliver looked forward to the Opening Ceremonies. Marching with the rest of the hockey team was one of his best memories of four years ago--one of the few memories from before that hadn’t been tainted by his injury. Because it was a time when he felt like he was part of something bigger than himself, because he was representing his country.

So after finding out that Felicity had never participated in the Opening Ceremonies and didn’t intend to do so this time either, Oliver wasn’t going to let her miss out. Things might still be weird between them, unsettled and full of unspoken words. But he thought, after their moment in the physical therapy room, that there was hope. And Felicity had said she wanted experiences. Admittedly, it was experiences she had missed out on because she was competing in the Olympics, like college and one-night stands. But still, he was damned if she didn’t get to have one of the best parts of being an Olympian.

Taking a deep breath and adjusting his grip on the duffle bag he was carrying, Oliver knocked on the door to Felicity’s room. All of them were staying in a house just outside Pyeonchang--no Olympic Village for Felicity, her parents had said, which was another one of Oliver's good memories from the last Games. But he hadn’t argued too much about staying in luxury accommodations, instead of in a room that wasn’t much better than his college dorm.

Felicity opened the door and her eyes went wide at the sight of him. “Oliver . . . what are you wearing?”

“The Opening Ceremonies costume for Team USA,” he said, hoping he sounded cheerful and friendly. Wanting Felicity to see this as a truce. A break from how they had been since Nationals. “I think the cowboy hat suits me, don’t you?” 

The costume for this Olympics was Western-inspired, which Oliver couldn’t help enjoying. Black boots, white snow pants with red trim, a thick navy blue parka, the obligatory stars-and-stripes scarf, all topped off with a white cowboy hat and with plenty of other American flag accessories.

Her face was unreadable for a moment, but then, she cracked. The giggle that escaped her lips was so free and easy, it made Oliver's heart beat faster even as he grinned at her. Because it was like old times. 

“Thanks, little lady,” he joked, tipping the hat to her and getting another giggle. “Now I can’t wait to see you in it.”

A wrinkle creased her forehead. “What?”

Oliver lifted up the duffle. “Here’s yours. I picked it up for you earlier today--I called your mom and she helped me with the sizes.”

“Oh, Oliver--I’m not going, I told you that . . .”

“You did,” Oliver agreed. “But you should go. And I’m not leaving here until you put on this silly uniform and come with me.”

She opened her mouth and suddenly Oliver lost all the courage that brought him here. And he felt a flicker of anger towards Felicity, for being so infuriatingly important to him. 

He held the duffle out to her, all but shoving it into her arms. “There’s a car coming to take me to the venue in fifteen minutes. Come, don’t come--it’s up to you.”

Turning around, he left, heading to the foyer to wait. And the longer he waited, the more he felt like an idiot. They’ve barely talked about anything other than skating ever since Nationals, and he thought she would want to come to the Opening Ceremonies with him? Spend hours and hours together?

There had to be a day when he will figure himself out, right? When he’ll understand why he kept hoping when it came to Felicity, even when it seemed like he should just give up and try to get over this.

The car had just pulled up and Oliver was buttoning up his coat--which frankly was pretty nice, at least--when there’s a pounding of feet coming down the stairs. “Oliver, wait!”

It was Felicity. Felicity, running up to him with her coat over her arm, the cowboy hat crooked on her head and her scarf nearly falling off her shoulder. Her cheeks were flushed and there was a nervous, uncertain smile on her face. “Excuse me, I understood there was a car to the Opening Ceremonies?”

When he doesn’t say anything because he was too busy staring at her, her smile got a bit trembly. But she straightened her shoulders and looked right at him. “I think the hat looks better on me.”

He couldn’t help it--he laughed, a loud bark that made her eyes go wide. Then she grinned at him and imitated how he had tipped his hat to her.

And suddenly everything was right in the world and he can’t believe that he’s so lucky to have her with him.

“C’mon,” he said, grabbing her hand. “Let’s go.”

XXX

Now that they’re here in Pyeonchang, Digg has eased back on practice. “You know the routine and you know what you need to do to complete the Diggle.” Their coach was always a bit sheepish when referring to the move he created.

Oliver wasn’t so sure. They’ve only come close to landing the move a handful of times in practice--but close won’t be enough in competition. To his surprise, though, Felicity agreed with Digg.

“At this point, we need to turn our brains off and let our subconscious work with our bodies.” Her cheeks went a bit pink as she tightened the band holding her ponytail. “Our minds just get in the way.”

There’s something about Felicity’s words, some hidden feeling or meaning behind them. Something that made them become lodged in his mind. Over the next two days of press, easy practices, and even taking in a few events, he kept turning them over. Not even sure why, but it was all he thought about. Which was ironic, he guessed.

At least things with Felicity had gotten easier. A little bit. Their night at the Opening Ceremonies let them finally get past the awkwardness of what happened after Nationals. And with having so much free time, they can interact with each other and talk about things other than skating. They can just spend time together. There’s a night of watching movies at the house, sharing the couch as Felicity gently teases him about his bad movie choices. There’s an afternoon watching speed skating, Oliver joking that Felicity should have done that discipline instead of pairs.

But on the downside . . . spending time with Felicity brought all those feelings flooding back. After weeks of barely noticing her, or worrying about her physical state too much to appreciate how beautiful she was, now he’s hyper-aware of her. The brush of her fingers against his when she passed him popcorn made his whole body sing. Having her move in a bit closer to him for body warmth inside the chilly speed skating venue--it was all he can do not to wrap his arm around her. 

It felt different from before, though. There was plenty of lust before Nationals. And he was still turned on by the things that were very Felicity: the bright colors, the glasses when she wasn’t skating. But now, even his most lust-filled thoughts were tempered with an almost overwhelming tenderness. A need to keep her safe, while wanting to kiss her until they’re both breathless.

Oliver knew that soon, he wouldn’t be able to keep this in anymore. He’s kind of shocked he hadn’t blurted it out already. _Felicity, you're beautiful and smart and funny and sweet and I am so fucking crazy about you, I can’t see straight._

Yeah, that was what girls dreamed of hearing.

There were only a few more days. They would be performing their short program tomorrow and the long program the day after. Then probably a day or two to wrap everything up and then . . . then he could really think about this. Once he knew if they were Olympic gold medalists or not. Once he knew if he was worthy of her.

But achieving a gold medal would be tough. Oliver had trusted Digg when he had said that Rochev and Wilson were their biggest competition and the frontrunners for gold. But once he saw them in action during the first practice session . . . he realized Digg had been underplaying it.

Isabel Rochev was a tiny, imposing brunette with the best resting bitch face Oliver had ever seen. Slade Wilson, who had given up his Australian citizenship to skate with Rochev for Russia, was a powerful yet graceful skater. Together, they were all speed and power and attitude. The videos Digg had shown them online didn’t do Rochev and Wilson justice. Seeing them in person gave you the whole story.

They were great skaters but lousy partners. Because it was clear in the practice session that neither of them gave a damn about the other. At one point, Rochev nearly tripped Wilson in order to reach the boards first, where their coach was waiting for them. In another case, Wilson let Rochev land heavily from a lift, and when she glared at him, he had only smirked. “If you did your job, sweetheart, you wouldn’t have landed so hard.”

It had to count for something, right? The lack of a bond could be reflected in the grade of execution, perhaps. Oliver didn’t know. In spite of Digg’s efforts to explain scoring to him, he had never been able to grasp it. He just knew that he and Felicity had something special together. The last five weeks of endless practice meant that now, he knew what Felicity was thinking and feeling when they were on the ice. From slight tenses of her hips to flutters in her fingers, there was no doubt in his mind that they were a pair, not two separate individuals skating together.

That was what he thought, until the night of their short program.

XXX

The moment he woke up on the day of the short program, Oliver felt a weight on his chest. He was already certain that today would pass even slower than the day of their Nationals long program had. 

It was still early, but he wanted some coffee, so he headed to the kitchen, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a thin t-shirt, thanks to the overeager heating in the house. To his surprise, Felicity was already there, sipping her own coffee. She gave him a small smile and gestured towards the coffee maker. 

“I just made a pot.” 

“Thank God,” he said, giving her a grin. Filling a mug, he sat down across from her at the table and they shared silent smiles, both recognizing their nerves. They sat alone, sipping coffee, until Felicity plunked down her mug.

“I’m going to make breakfast for everyone. You want to help?”

Even though Oliver could barely cook, he agreed quickly. Anything to pass the time. And perhaps he just liked the idea of moving around the kitchen together, sharing something so normal and ordinary. 

As they attempted to make breakfast, Oliver felt that weight in his chest lift the slightest bit. Maybe things weren’t as difficult as he thought they were. After all, he was a hockey player who had managed to become a good enough figure skater that he was competing in the Olympics. What was more of a long shot than that?

He glanced over at Felicity as he waited for the bread to come out of the toaster. Her face was screwed up in concentration as she scrambled some eggs, poking at the pan with a spatula. She looked down at her tablet, pushed up her glasses, looked at the pan, and smiled proudly. Like she knew what she was doing and felt good about it.

It was just so _Felicity_ that he couldn’t help a smile from appearing on his face Just like he couldn’t help wanting to be close to her. But giving in to that urge would be a bad idea. 

But he could go over and check on the eggs, couldn’t he?

Slowly, moving carefully, Oliver stepped up behind Felicity. “Those look great,” he said, leaning down just a little and looking over her shoulder down at the pan.

She jumped a little, brushing back against him--he was closer than he thought. “Oliver!” she said, looking up at him with wide eyes behind her glasses.

“What? I wanted to check on the eggs, since you said you’d never made them before,” Oliver said, savoring being this close to Felicity without figure skates being involved, while wondering where he had gotten the courage to do so.

Her face was flushed, but when she spoke, he knew she was trying to sound unaffected. “The Internet can tell you how to do anything. Cook scrambled eggs, dye your hair . . . anything.”

“Hmm,” he said softly, gazing at her. “I’ll keep that in mind. Although I think there are some things you can’t research--you just have to do them.”

They had never talked about what happened the last night of Nationals. With the morning after they had experienced, there had never been a way to talk about what she had said, what he had done. They had just tried to move on without talking about it. He had assumed she was too embarrassed to talk about it and he wasn’t ready to explain his actions to her. Like the way he had flirted with her, even though he had been less drunk than she was. There was no sign that she really felt anything like he felt, he thought. Her actions that night fit in with her fantasy of picking up a hot guy and taking him home.

But now he was changing his mind. Because Felicity’s eyes flicked down to his lips for a moment, and the expression on her face, in her eyes, wasn’t embarrassment. No, it was longing.

Holy shit. Did Felicity regret not kissing him? Because that meant she wanted to kiss him now, when they were making breakfast the day that they would be performing in the Olympics.

She didn’t want a fantasy hot guy. She wanted _him_.

It was all so overwhelming and intimidating and a thousand other emotions. Because he had spent months thinking about her, trying to figure out just what existed between them, and he felt like he had just put a really big piece of the puzzle into place, but the picture wasn’t what he was expecting--and the puzzle was still incomplete. 

After the Olympics. That was when he was supposed to figure this out. When a gold medal wasn’t on the line--when he would know if he had let her down or not. Because if he hadn’t been good enough, he would just go away and find a way to deal with what he was feeling. And if they did win gold . . . maybe then he would feel like he could tell her how much he wanted something more with her.

Oliver didn’t know how long they had been standing there, Felicity trapped between himself and the stove, as they looked at each other. But it was definitely long enough to burn the eggs. Neither of them noticed until the smoke detector started chirping and Donna came into the kitchen, asking about the strange odor.

Then the moment was over and they had to pull away. And in the hustle of turning off the smoke detector and cleaning up the burned eggs and finishing breakfast for everyone, something changed. 

For the rest of the day, Oliver tried to find the words to explain himself to Felicity. But he couldn't. And it didn't help that Felicity laid low after breakfast. The longer she was out of sight, the more his spirits sank. And when she finally appeared when it was time to head over to the arena, he couldn’t help having a bad feeling.

XXX

He’s thrown up twice, which has never happened before. Oliver was pretty sure once was about skating and once was about Felicity, but he doesn’t feel better after either purging. Rolling his shoulders, he left the locker room and went looking for Felicity.

As he expected, she’s stretching, getting her limbs loose, creating the appearance that she was taller and leaner than she really is. Although Oliver is pretty sure she’s physically perfect. Long legs for her height, an ass that won’t quit, breasts that--

_What the fuck?_

Giving his head a shake, Oliver made himself focus. The Diggle was the highlight of their long program and the hardest move they had ever attempted. But that wasn’t to say their short program was a cakewalk. Digg had worked with them to upgrade a few elements, so he couldn’t be distracted like this and perform his best.

Felicity was really in the zone. She didn’t even have her earbuds in, but it was like she was in another world. She was concentrating so hard that she didn’t even acknowledge Oliver when he started stretching beside her.

After twenty minutes, though, he was starting to get concerned. This seemed like more than just focus. It’s like she was avoiding him. Keeping him at arm’s length. Like she did sometimes with her other partners. Got distant and remote, closed herself off and stayed in her head.

And Oliver knew why. It was because of this morning. Because he was stupid and made a move on her when he wouldn’t follow through on it, and now he doesn’t know what she’s thinking. But it can’t be good if she’s acting like this.

“Felicity,” he said, but she doesn’t say anything back. Doesn’t respond at all. “Felicity?” he repeated, reaching out to touch her arm.

She startled, blinking at him. “What, Oliver?”

He was opening his mouth to ask if she was okay, to apologize for what happened this morning, to tell her that she could tell him whatever was bothering her. But then an announcement went out over the backstage public address system: “Next to skate, Smoak/Queen, USA.”

“We’ve got to go,” Felicity said, standing up and shedding her warm up jacket. Without another word, she headed towards the entrance to the ice. Oliver followed her, feeling like he could possibly throw up for a third time.

Once they’re on the ice, Felicity pasted a smile on her face. But Oliver knows it wasn’t a real one. Her eyes don’t have any sparkle, there’s no excitement in her expression. Hell, right now he’d take a Felicity who was freaking out from nerves or spitting with anger about this morning. Anything other than this Felicity.

It wasn’t until they take their starting positions that he realized neither of them has said “toe pick.” He looked at her, wondering if it would help. If it would break through the shell around her. If it would bring back his Felicity. 

The music started and he knew there was only eight beats before their first move. So he blurted out, “toe pick!” just before they push away from each other.

And it might be his imagination, but Felicity pushed him harder than normal.

Then he’s in the routine, focusing on each move, performing each element as perfectly as he can. But he knew there was something missing, and when he stumbled out of a jump, he felt the rush of frustration and shame and guilt. Oliver did his best to recover and skated cleanly for the rest of the program. But never had two and a half minutes felt so long.

Digg looked at them with one of those penetrating gazes when they came off the ice, but then, surprisingly, he wrapped an arm around each of them as they sat in the kiss and cry. Even more surprising, their scores weren’t horrible. Oliver blinked as he watched them appear on the monitor before them. “We’re in fifth?”

“For now,” Felicity said, her voice sounding like she’s trying to stay composed but can’t. He looked at her, seeing how she’s chewing on her lower lip.

“Rochev and Wilson have already skated,” Digg reminded them. “The Italians in third, everyone knows they excel in the short. And the remaining pairs aren’t expected to be competitive. You’ve still got a shot.”

The NBC reporter stepped into the kiss and cry, smiling widely. “Oliver, Felicity, a word? How was it out there?”

“It was good, thanks,” Oliver said, taking a big swallow from his bottle of water.

“We’re hearing so much about a big surprise to come in your long program,” the reporter said, sounding excited at the possibility of a scoop.

Right now, the last thing Oliver wanted to deal with was the press, but he just nodded and smiled tightly. “That’s right, the Diggle.”

“The Diggle, in honor of your coach, yes?”

Before Oliver can respond to the question, Felicity spoke. “We’ve taken it out. It’s not ready.” Then she pushed past Oliver, heading towards the locker rooms.

Oliver took a step back, staring after Felicity. He knew his shock showed on his face, knew he should be answering the reporter, knew that the entire world, including the rest of the pairs competition, knew he had just been blindsided. But he can only stand there and watch Felicity walk away.

XXX

“All of you, in the other locker room,” Quentin Lance said, storming into the men’s locker room just as Oliver was finishing getting dressed after his shower. He doesn’t even wait for an answer before he left. 

Oliver looked at Digg. “Time to bend over and grab our ankles?”

The coach rolled his eyes a little, then grimaced. “Quentin was texting me all night, getting progressively madder. We better go face the music.”

“Do you think he knows about what Felicity said?” Oliver asked, feeling his jaw tense. He’s boiling mad at Felicity, for just deciding, for all of them, that the move was out, without talking to them first. But acting like this is so out of character, it was confusing as hell.

“What was that?” Lance greeted them as they step into the locker room, empty except for Felicity, Donna and Quetin. “To have any hope of winning gold, you needed to be in third. Especially if you’ve taken the move out.”

Oliver felt his jaw tense at Mr. Lance’s criticism. He wasn’t saying anything that Oliver hasn’t already thought, but it’s frustrating to hear it, of all people, from Felicity’s stepfather. He can see Felicity shrink a little from Mr. Lance’s tone of voice.

Even in the midst of his anger, seeing her shoulders slump like that made him feel concerned about her. Concerned about what was going on inside her beautiful head. 

“Easy, Quentin,” Digg said, holding his hands up. “We’re not in as good a position as we could be, yes, but we’re not out of this yet. And when Oliver and Felicity finish their program tomorrow--with all the elements, like we planned until Felicity just pulled that stunt with NBC--they’ll easily be in first.”

Lance wheeled around and stared at Felicity. “I thought you told them before?”

“Told us what?” Oliver said icily. 

Donna stepped forward, resting her hand on Quentin’s arm. “We’re very concerned about Felicity’s safety.”

“And you think we aren’t?” Digg said, his voice raised.

Mr. Lance shook his head. “I wished I believed you, John. I’ve been patient and held my tongue all this time, through all the cockamamie ideas you’ve had. It was bad enough bringing Queen in, but this lift into a throw jump? It’s insanity.” 

“Quentin--” Donna said, but he shook her off.

“No, Donna, I love Felicity like she was my own daughter, but between Svengali and Mr. Muscles here, she’s gotten talked into doing this dangerous element. Putting her through all this--and if it doesn’t work out, you can bet we all know who’s dumping who.”

Oliver felt a surge of anger course through him. Lance loved Felicity like she was his own--but not enough to formally adopt her or give her his name. That didn’t seem like a father to him. Without thinking about it, he moved over to stand beside Felicity, resting his hand on her shoulder. Wanting her to know that even if he was upset with her, he was here for her. 

“Quentin, what are you talking about?” Donna asked. Digg looked equally confused.

“He’s been talking to Malcolm Merlyn and Sara Lance,” Mr. Lance said, jerking a thumb at Digg. “About Queen changing partners after the Olympics.”

Digg’s wasn't the only mouth to drop. Oliver stared at Mr. Lance, then at Digg. He was already confused, and now he was just dumbstruck. Digg wouldn’t do that, would he?

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Digg said after a moment. “Sara works with Malcolm, and she’s not going to leave him. And I haven’t talked to them on Oliver’s behalf regardless.”

“And even if he did, I don’t want another partner,” Oliver said quickly, dealing with the only thing he could. Because he didn’t know if Digg had been talking to Merlyn, if he had been making plans. But there was no way he would skate with Sara.

He would only skate with Felicity. 

With that, everyone started talking over everyone else. Quentin was yelling about Digg’s disloyalty and what he’s put Felicity through. Donna was on the verge of tears over Felicity’s suffering. Digg was defending himself, saying he would never go behind their backs like this, “unlike Felicity deciding without consulting her coach or her partner about taking a major move out of a program!” Oliver lost his temper, hearing Digg be attacked, and started asking why they had practiced a move they weren’t going to do.

There was so much yelling, and Oliver was thinking a fight was going to start--he just wasn’t sure between who--when a sudden, choked sob interrupted them all, plunging the room into silence.

A sob that came from Felicity. Tears were rolling down her cheeks and she looked absolutely heartbroken. Her eyes moved back and forth between Mr. Lance and Donna. When she spoke, though, Oliver didn’t expect the question she asked.

“Why now?”

Her parents looked confused, but Donna immediately stepped forward to wrap an arm around Felicity. She shoved her mother away and stood up, her shoulders back. 

“Why not after Nationals? That’s when you should have starred planting doubts in me--doubts about Digg, doubts about Oliver. Telling me that wouldn’t it be better if I stopped this before it went too far?”

“Felicity, sweetheart--” Lance said, only for a look from Felicity to cut him of.

“I don’t get it, _Dad_ ,” she said, putting extra emphasis on the last word. “You want me to win gold for you so badly--but it’s like at the same time you don’t. Because after all, it still won't be _your_ gold, would it? Maybe that’s why you can only love me _like_ a daughter instead of loving me _as_ a daughter.”

Lance’s face crumpled a little, the fight going out of him. “Felicity . . .”

She shook her head. “With all the mixed messages I’ve gotten over the years, is it any wonder I’m an expert at sending them?” Her eyes flicked to Oliver’s then she turned to Digg. “I don’t think you’ve been talking to Malcolm about Oliver and Sara. At least, not as skating partners. But--but I can’t deal with this right now.” 

“Felicity, baby, we love you, we just want what’s best for you,” Donna said, taking Felicity’s hand.

Once again, Felicity shook off her mother. “Mom, not now. I--I need to be alone.”

She turned but stopped. Oliver could see how tight her shoulders were, the way her fingers were opening and closing into fists. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, tell her it was going to be okay, gold medal or no gold medal. That she only had to be herself and he would love her.

His mouth went dry as the realization sank in. Love her. He loved her. 

“I’m sorry,” she said softly without looking at anyone. Then with all that speed of hers, Felicity ran out of the locker room.

Oliver took a step to go after her, his body moving without conscious thought. But then he stopped and swallowed.

“I--I need some air,” he said, pulling his coat around himself and heading for the door. He didn’t know what to believe right now. Didn’t know what to think. All he did know was he needed to get out.

Or else he would go after Felicity and ruin everything.

End, Chapter 7


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may be on the shorter side . . . but I think, in this case, it’s quality vs. quantity. At least, that’s what I’m hoping! Hope y’all enjoy.

If he was being honest with himself, the four hours he spent walking around Pyeongchang wasn’t just about getting some air. It was about maybe, just maybe, crossing paths with Felicity. Because if he found her, maybe they could start fixing things. If only they could talk one-on-one, just them. But he had no luck in finding her--or finding a decision about what to do.

Everything in him was screaming that he should just tell Felicity. Stop hiding and pretending. Be the man who wouldn’t try to change her or control her, but support and protect her. And love her. 

But at the same time, it didn’t seem like it was the right time. She had just confronted some major family issues. She must have doubts about Diggle and Oliver after her stepfather's accusation. They were in the middle of a stressful situation, their emotions were running high, and he wasn’t sure he deserved her. All of those things told him he shouldn't say anything yet. 

Yet when he walked into the house very, very late, he nearly changed his mind. Because he could see her talking to Digg in the living room, their backs to him. And she was wearing an Edmonton Oilers jersey that dwarfed her slight figure, the name Gretzky spanning her shoulders. It was the jersey he had given her for Christmas. And suddenly, he knew that was all he wanted. Felicity, in his life, in his arms. 

He had to tell her. Now.

Taking a step towards the living room, he got close enough to hear what Felicity and Digg were talking about, and his blood went cold.

“Are you saying Malcolm was trying to split up Oliver and me by using Sara?”

“That’s what Barry told me,” Digg said quietly.

Oliver drew back to stand out of sight of the doorway, in case either of them turned around. “Why would Barry tell you and not me?” Felicity asked, sounding confused.

“Because if word got out, Barry was worried everyone would know how we found out about their plan. It’s pretty well-known that you two keep in contact,” Digg explained. “This way, we would be prepared if Malcolm tried anything, since we knew what his endgame was.”

“It’s just so Malcolm,” Felicity said with a sigh. “Sending Sara after Oliver to steal him away, leaving Barry and me without partners in the process. I should have known, when Malcolm showed up at the rink before Nationals . . . I knew he had some kind of plan, but I had no idea he had gotten Sara involved. I hope she knew what she was doing--I mean, I don’t think she’d be so underhanded. Maybe it was just about Oliver for her.”

There was a long pause, then Digg said, “So . . .you knew about Oliver and Sara?”

The little sarcastic puff of laughter Felicity made nearly broke Oliver’s heart. “I came to his room the next morning, so we could talk. Sara answered the door in Oliver’s shirt. And then he walked out of the bathroom in a towel.”

“He was drunk,” Digg said bluntly. “We do a lot of dumb things when we’re drunk.”

“Tell me about it.” 

There was an intake of breath. “Felicity?”

“Nothing happened, Digg,” Felicity said tiredly. “I promise.”

When Digg spoke, Oliver can almost picture him, standing with his hand on Felicity’s shoulder, giving her one of those looks of his. “Believe me, you wouldn’t have wanted anything to happen under those conditions.”

“I know,” Felicity said softly. “And yeah, we had been drinking. A lot. Although it was mostly me. But Oliver wasn’t drunk enough to . . . It must take more alcohol with a girl like me, versus someone like Sara.”

Oliver was ready to storm into the room, ready to tell Felicity she’s got it all wrong, but he doesn’t get a chance because Digg immediately responds. 

“Maybe it’s not like that, Felicity. And I’m not the person you should be talking to about this.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Digg, I didn’t mean to just spew all this over you.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Digg said. “I knew there had to be a reason, why you suddenly didn’t want to do the move, more than just what Quentin said about me and Malcolm. Once I knew about Oliver and Sara, it made more sense.” 

Turning around quietly, Oliver headed for the stairs. He had heard enough and he didn’t want to risk getting caught by either Digg or Felicity, risk getting drawn into an uncomfortable conversation. Not when his emotions were like this.

He just couldn’t figure out what to do. Every time he felt like he was ready to talk to Felicity, something would happen to make him reconsider. To make him think she didn’t need the complication of romance in her life right now. He just wanted her to be happy, to smile and laugh and be Felicity.

And as much as he loved her . . . he still didn’t know if he would make that happen. If he could make her happy.

XXX

When he woke up the next morning--very early considering the time he had finally fallen asleep--Oliver was tempted to pull the covers over his head. But something made him get up, pulling on a shirt as he walked out of his room. As he walked down the stairs, he saw a stack of suitcases by the front door. He frowned, recognizing Felicity’s luggage in the pile.

By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, Felicity appeared, coming from the direction of the kitchen. She was already fully dressed and holding a travel mug. He blinked. “Felicity?”

She looked at him, and only someone who really knew her face might see the signs of a sleepless night. But he did, in the faded blue of her eyes and the paleness of her skin. “Oliver. Good morning.”

“What’s all this?” he asked, gesturing to her bags. Trying to play dumb, even as he heard his voice shake just a little bit. Because he had a bad feeling about this.

“My parents and I are going to try and catch the eight o’clock flight to JFK tonight,” she said, wrapping her hands around her mug. “You’re welcome to stay in the house for the rest of the Olympics; it’s all paid for through the Closing Ceremonies. Digg will drive you over to the rink this afternoon--”

“Felicity?” he asked, interrupting her. Not believing what he was hearing. Not wanting to believe. Because why would she be leaving tonight, so soon after they skated?

Her eyes slipped shut for a moment. “I’m retiring,” she said quietly.

_What?_

Oliver could only stare at her, his heart in his throat. Retiring? She was leaving? Leaving the sport, leaving him? But what did that mean for them?

“This afternoon will be my final skate,” she said, looking down at her feet.

“I . . . I don’t understand,” he said, fumbling to find some explanation for this decision. 

Felicity gazed at him. “I thought it would be obvious. After Nationals, after last night . . . I have to get away from all this.” 

“All this?” he repeated, stepping closer to her.

A flicker of something appeared in her eyes. Like she wanted to tell him everything. He saw her lips part, but then she pressed them together. “You--you know you won’t have anything to worry about. You’ll have no problem finding a new partner. Although I don’t know if she’ll have my slap shot. Or my ability to babble,” she said, a small smile appearing on her face.

But he knew the smile was fake. Just like the acceptance he heard in her voice. Sure, Felicity might skate for her parents, but she loved it, too. He had seen how much she loved it, so many times before. In the way her face lit up when she landed a new move, in the dreamy happiness as she was gliding over the ice, in the cocky smile she’d give him whenever she finished a program with less mistakes than he had. He knew she wasn't ready to give it up--

Or maybe that was his own emotions getting in the way. His experiences coloring his reaction. But this was about Felicity, not him. Oliver swallowed. “What . . . what are you going to do?”

“I’m not sure. I’m thinking MIT, but . . . who knows?” She shrugged her shoulders, a move he had seen her do a thousand times in the nearly two years he had known her, but this was a new shrug. One he didn’t recognize.

At a loss for words, he just nodded. Then he managed to speak, feeling how clumsy his tongue was. “That’s good. I mean, I know how much you wanted to go to school. To have that experience. Now--now you can have whatever you want.”

“That's the idea,” she said, attempting a peppy note but failing. Because he could see how scared she was. How uncertain. And it made him worry about her even as he felt proud of her, too. For walking away from everything she knew because she wanted something different. Wanted a chance to be happy.

Even if it meant she was walking away from him, too. 

Oliver gazed down at her. Wishing he was good with words, wishing he could come up with a reason to tell her how he felt. Other than he wanted her to stay with him, so he could love her. But he couldn’t. So he did his best to smile at her. “We’ll have to make our program today a good one.” 

She nodded, and to his surprise reached out to touch his arm. “I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have said anything to that reporter, I just--I’m sorry, Oliver.” 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said, leaning in towards her. Close enough that he could catch the fragrance of her hair, something citrusy and fresh and clean. 

“It’s not okay, and you’ve been such a great partner--the best partner I’ve ever had,” she said, looking up at him, her eyes starting to shine behind her glasses. 

“Hey,” he repeated, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Felicity, I understand.” 

Her face went soft at his words, and she smiled. It wasn’t big and happy, but at least it was a real smile. She nodded. “Thank you, Oliver.” 

He couldn’t help himself. He gently squeezed her shoulder, his fingers rubbing against her sweater. “You’re welcome, Felicity.” 

A car horn honked, and they both jumped a little. “That’s my ride,” she said. She leaned up and brushed her lips over his cheek, making his whole body catch on fire at the contact. “See you at the rink.”

Without waiting for him to say anything, she turned and hurried out the door. Leaving Oliver staring after her again. Wondering why she had kissed him. Wondering why his brain had gone so blissfully blank at the touch of her lips on his skin.

Wondering what it would be like if it was her lips against his.

XXX

Strangely, the hours until it was time to leave for the figure skating venue seemed to move so much more quickly than they should. Or maybe it was just he was so lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the passage of time. Either way, before he knew it, Digg was telling him there was a half hour before they had to leave.

Once he had thrown everything into his bag, he ran out to the car and slid into the front seat beside Digg. “Sorry.” 

“No problem,” Digg said, starting the car and pulling out. There was silence for a few minutes, then Digg spoke quietly. “So you know I never talked to Malcolm about you and Sara becoming partners, right?”

Oliver nodded quickly. “Yes. I didn’t believe Mr. Lance at all. That wouldn’t be you at all.”

“Right,” Digg said, easily navigating the traffic on the Korean roads. “And it’d be pointless. You only want to skate with Felicity.” 

That was true. But what Oliver wanted might soon be irrelevant. Not with Felicity retiring. And remembering that--not that it had been far from his thoughts all day--made him feel anxious. Fidgeting with his bag, unzipping and rezipping it, Oliver knew Digg was both annoyed and worried. The glances over at him confirmed that. With a sigh, he turned to their coach. “Did Felicity tell you about her decision? To retire?”

Digg nodded slowly. “Yep.” 

When he didn’t say anything more, Oliver turned to look at Digg. “Is that all you’re going to say? ‘Yep’?”

“What’s to say? She wants to retire,” Digg said, shrugging her shoulders. 

“Does she, though? I don’t know,” Oliver replied. He leaned back against the seat, shifting his legs. “I mean, I know it seems like she skates because it’s what her parents want, but I think she really does love it. That she doesn’t want to give it up. But if she keeps skating, Donna and Mr. Lance, they get to stay in the driver’s seat. And Felicity’s an adult. She should get to do what she wants.” Blowing out a breath, Oliver let his head drop back against the headrest. 

A silence filled the car and Oliver found his fingers itching, reaching for the zipper of his bag again. But Digg’s voice made him freeze.

“So you do know you’re in love with Felicity, right?”

Oliver’s head whipped around to stare at Digg. “What?” he croaked.

With a snort, Digg looked at Oliver for a moment before returning his eyes to the road. “Do not try and tell me you don’t know that.” 

“No, that’s--I mean, yeah, I--wait,” Oliver said, trying to get his thoughts in order. It was one thing to realize that he loved Felicity, but to have someone else be able to see it . . . 

“Wait, do you think Felicity knows?” he blurted out. 

“What do you think?”

Sighing, Oliver slumped in his seat. “I’ve wanted to tell her for weeks,” he confessed quietly. “It . . . it just never seemed like the right time.” 

“You wait for the right moment, the right moment never comes along,” Digg said, glancing over at him. 

“I was gonna do it after today,” Oliver admitted, looking down at his hands. “But now . . .”

“Now you don’t have the time,” Digg replied as he pulled into the parking lot at the rink for competitors. “So I guess you have to decide what matters more: the right moment or how you feel about her.”

XXX

The buzz of energy inside the arena was electric. It made his skin tingle and his stomach roll--which sent him running for the nearest toilet. But he still felt queasy as he left the bathroom and headed for the locker rooms. 

His heart was practically pounding its way out of his chest while he changed into his costume and shoved his feet into a pair of sneakers. He started jogging in place, warming up his muscles like normal. Trying to stick to his routine: throwing up, cardio, stretching, and then hitting the ice. 

Even though this was the last time he would be skating with Felicity. 

God, he wished there was more time. If he had more time, he’d be able to talk to her and maybe figure out where her head was. He really wanted to know why she wanted to retire. Find out why she thought it was her best option to get away from her parents. Ask her why MIT had such a hold on her. 

Put in a pitch for himself as a boyfriend. 

Boyfriend. He’d never been a boyfriend. Could he do that? Was that who he was? 

But then Oliver thought about not seeing Felicity ever again. Never hearing her giggles or seeing her smile. Never telling her he loved her. 

And like that, he didn’t care if he could be a boyfriend. He only knew he was ready to try, if it meant having Felicity. 

Oliver kicked off his sneakers and put on his skates, lacing them as quickly as he could. Then he went looking for Felicity. 

When he spotted her, he made himself stop and watch her for a moment. Watch as she slowly stretched, one hand gracefully arched over her head as she leaned over to meet the toe of her foot, propped up on a table. He loved her long program costume: the red dress with the full skirt made her look strong, confident. And completely, jaw-droppingly beautiful.

Pulling at his shirt collar, he walked up to her. “Felicity.” 

She glanced at him and gave him a small smile. “Hey. I’m nearly done--have you stretched?” 

Nodding, he rubbed his hands against his pants. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good to go. I just--I wanted to talk to you.” 

“It’s nearly time to skate . . .” Felicity said, her forehead wrinkled. She straightened up. “You look really nervous.” 

He huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, well, I am.”

The wrinkles on her forehead deepened. “You threw up already, right? I thought after you did that, you were fine.” 

“Yeah, normally, but this . . . it’s not the normal kind of nerves, Felicity,” he said, trying to find the right way to tell her he was completely in love with her and that if she gave him a chance, he’d do everything he could--he would do _anything_ \--to make her happy. 

Felicity looked up at him, so adorably confused as she searched his face. Something in his eyes must have given her some kind of hint, gave her some idea that this was serious, that this wasn’t about their skating. Her teeth sank into her lower lip for a moment, her eyes looking right into his. She moved back to let a clump of people get around them, then gave him a too-bright smile. “This isn’t a great place for a conversation--we’re kinda in the way here, Oliver.” 

“I know--” he said, only for Felicity to take his arm and pull him close to her as a camera crew walked behind him, headed towards the ice. 

“It’s like rush hour around here,” she said, looking at everything except him. “We should get down to the ice.”

Without waiting for him to say anything, Felicity turned and walked away from him. 

Oliver pressed his lips together. He felt like all he did was watch Felicity leave. Leave before she could be left. And he got that--he could understand it. 

But damn it, he was tired of it. And he was ready for it to end. 

Taking advantage of his longer legs, Oliver hurried after her. “Felicity, wait,” he said, catching her arm and pulling her to face him, not far from the boards that surrounded the rink. 

“Oliver, we have to skate--”

“I know,” he said, reaching out to cup her face in his hands. Touching her skin made his mouth go dry, even as her eyes went wide. “But--but first, I have to tell you--you need to know--”

The emotions swirling in her eyes made him hesitate. Because she looked so uncertain, almost scared. And at first, he didn’t understand why she was scared. Was she scared of him? He was ready to let her go, ready to step back and say he would tell her later, when he looked a little deeper. And there, underneath the fear and concern and anxiety, he saw hope.

The same hope he saw when he looked in the mirror and thought about a future with her. 

“Felicity, somewhere in the middle of all this, I fell in love with you.” 

Under his fingers, he could feel the tremble that goes through her at his words. She stared up at him, her mouth falling open a little. He leaned in, needing to be closer to her. Needing her to hear him over the din of people talking and music playing. 

“Do you understand?” he asked. “I’m saying I love you. I want to be with you. I don’t care if we skate together anymore--if you want to retire, I’ll follow you to MIT and work in a coffee shop if I have to, just to be with you.” 

Her long, dark eyelashes fluttered as she blinked. “Oliver--” 

“Don’t try and tell me we aren’t right for each other,” he said, feeling frantic. “I think we might only be right for each other.”

Suddenly, Felicity looked away from him, towards the ice. Oliver felt his heart sinking, like his whole world was ending. And then an official was by his side, smiling as he said cheerfully, “You may take the ice.” 

Their names had been called while he had been confessing his feelings. And now they had to skate with an Olympic medal on the line. 

“Felicity?” he asked, hearing his voice crack in the middle of his favorite four syllables.

She slowly turned her head to look back at him. He watched as her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, making his heart clench. “I . . .” 

“Yeah?” he said, stepping closer to her. Wanting to fall into her eyes and never leave. 

“I want us to do the Diggle and land it.” 

Oliver did a double-take and almost lifted his hand to stick a finger in his ear. Because she couldn’t have responded to his confession by talking about their program, could she? “What?” 

Felicity swallowed. “We need to skate. I want to skate with you. C’mon.” 

The official was jabbering at him to take the ice, but it took a moment for everything to sink in. Then Oliver hurried after Felicity. “No, it’s too dangerous, Felicity--”

“We’re doing it,” she said, glancing back at him as she skated towards the center of the rink. 

As they took their positions, Oliver tried to figure out what she was thinking, what she was feeling. But he drew a complete blank. Because she hadn’t said anything about what he had said, didn’t say anything about how she felt about him--and the only thing she seemed concerned about was skating. And yeah, it was her last skate, but . . . 

She looked up at him and gave him that mischievous, cocky smile that he really loved on her. “Show me what you’ve got. Toe pick.” 

What? 

As their music started playing, it was like the pieces fell into place for Oliver. It's as if they were on the same page--there were no walls between them. Felicity was letting him in, holding nothing back. He felt connected to Felicity in a way he had never felt before. With anyone. And he can’t help grinning at her. 

Show her what he’s got? Oh, he’ll show her. 

They began and it was like nothing he has ever experienced before. The skating feels effortless. Jumps are higher. Footwork was crisper. Lifts are stronger. Spins are faster. 

It’s the perfect program. But there’s still the Diggle looming at the end. He should be nervous. Every other time they’ve run their long program, the closer they get to the move, the more tense he would become. Not today, though. He felt loose, relaxed. And so does Felicity--he can tell as he lifted her up into the lasso lift. 

They rotated as they crossed the ice and Oliver felt the slightest extra pressure on his hands from Felicity. Like she’s squeezing his fingers now that it’s time. 

And that was all he needed. 

He lowered her in the swinging exit that was characteristic of the lasso lift, their hands immediately shifting into position for the throw quad Lutz. And then he’s lifted her up into the air, sending her across the ice. Felicity pulled her arms in tightly against her body to build up the necessary speed as she rotated once, twice, three--

Four! 

And then she landed, landed perfectly, and Oliver can’t help yelling “Boo-yah!” at her and grinning, and she was _beaming_ at him as he catches up with her amid the wild applause of the audience. He wrapped his arms around her, lowering her in the dip that’s the last element in their program.

They’re both breathing hard as they slow to a stop and the music swells to a crescendo. “Well?” he managed to ask, quirking an eyebrow. 

“Not--not bad,” she said breathlessly, her eyes flicking between his eyes and lips. He felt hot all over at such an obvious sign of attraction from her. 

“Maybe I’ll get another chance?” he asked, pulling her closer to him. 

Felicity nodded, sliding her hand up a little to the back of his neck. “Only because--because I love you.” 

Nothing had ever sounded so good to Oliver. So right. He smiled at her, unable to hold it back. “Lucky me.” 

And then he closed the rest of the gap between them and kissed her. 

End, Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never fear, there will be one more chapter. If nothing else, you have to know if Oliver and Felicity won gold! Oh, and I suppose there’s other stuff you’ll want to know about. :-) See you on Tuesday, hopoyfully.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are at the end. I have a lot to say after the fic, but in this part of my author’s note, I want to thank Macha and Callista and youguysimserious and scu11y22 and everyone else on Tumblr who have reblogged and liked my posts about this fic, sent me messages or just generally promoted this fic. Plus, I’d like to thank the readers on AO3 and ff.net who have been equally enthusiastic. Because I don’t work in a vacuum and knowing that I have so many great people supporting my work is the best feeling on Earth.
> 
> Enough sappiness for now--although just wait until you get to the end, I might have achieved a new level in cheesy fluffiness. Enjoy this final chapter! Also, note the rating change.

Felicity let out a half-gasp, half-laugh as Oliver pushed her back against the wall. “Oliver--Oliver, we’re in a hallway.” 

“Yep,” he said, running his hands up and down her sides. Needing to touch her, not to hold her up in a lift or perform a death spiral, but because she was beautiful and amazing and she loved him.

“Mmmm,” she said softly, her hands just as busy as they stroked his arms and shoulders. “And--and I’m all sweaty.” 

“Uh-huh,” Oliver replied, kissing along her jaw and tasting salt and sweetness in equal measure. “Remember how I said there was only one way that was more fun to get sweaty? Guess what it is.” 

Her cheeks went pink, but she smiled at him and slid her hands up to hold his face as she kissed him slowly. Oliver felt like he was drowning, but in the best way. Drowning in her.

He pressed against her, their medals clanking a little, then digging into his abs. “Wait,” he said, leaning back from her just enough to reach down, grab his medal, and lift it over his head. The medal hit the carpeted floor with a soft plunk once he let it go. He moved back to keep kissing her, but one of her hands shot out and pressed against his chest. 

“Oliver! You just dropped your medal--you just dropped an _Olympic silver medal_ on the floor!” She sounded utterly scandalized . . . but also very confused. 

“It was in the way. And you matter more,” he said, trying to kiss her again.

She let out an adorable little harrumph of disagreement. “You say that now, and I know it’s only silver, but--”

“No, Felicity,” Oliver interrupted, looking right at her. “You’re more important than any medal, of any color, any time. All the time.” 

A flash of something went through her eyes and she sucked in a breath. And then she was all but climbing him, her hands gripping his shoulders as she hauled him in for a hot, deep kiss, while her legs lifted up to wrap around his hips.

Oliver moaned as her mouth devoured his, feeling like his heart was going to burst and not caring at all. Because this was like something out of a dream.

Suddenly, it was over and Oliver was left blinking as Felicity lowered her legs from his waist. “Huh?”

Felicity was panting, leaning back against the wall of the hallway outside the locker rooms. “We--we need to shower, and do press, and I need to talk to my mom. And then, you and me . . . I’d like to kiss you without at least dozens of people watching.” 

“Oh, that sounds good--that sounds really good,” Oliver said, grinning at her. 

Giggling, Felicity leaned up and pecked his lips. “To be continued?” 

“Do you really have to ask?” Oliver said before cupping the back of her head and deepening the kiss. 

God, he was already addicted to kissing her. He couldn’t get enough. And from the way her fingers twisted in his shirt, how she moved closer to him, he knew Felicity felt the same way. And that was the most addicting, amazing thing of all. 

This time, he yanked away. “Showers. Press. Then us.” 

She nodded and tugged a little on her costume, then cupped her medal in her hands. “Can you believe it?” she asked, looking at the medal for a long moment before gazing at him. 

“No. I really can’t,” he said, smiling at her. He scooped up his medal and winked at her. “Catch you later.” 

“Not if I catch you first,” she said, grinning as he walked backwards from her, keeping her face in his line of sight as long as he could. 

No, he couldn’t believe what had happened. But it was more about Felicity than winning an Olympic medal.

XXX

_One hour earlier_

Having your first kiss at the end of your successfully completed long program at the Olympics? It was very romantic.

But it was pretty much the definition of starting something you couldn’t finish. Because there was another couple waiting to skate, and they needed to get their scores and find out their standing, not to mention the in-person and television audiences watching him and Felicity lock lips. 

Most of all, there were things they needed to talk about and discuss. After they had made out for at least an hour, Oliver thought. Yeah, an hour--that was fair, given how long he had been waiting for this, right? For her? 

Eventually, the official from before their program--no less cheerful but now rather embarrassed, too--came out onto the ice and shuffled them off to the kiss and cry. Felicity’s face was flushed, but her smile never dimmed and she gripped his hand tightly, not letting go even as they stepped off the ice and put the blade guards on their skates. 

Oliver grinned at her. “That felt good.” 

She looked up at him and pressed her lips together, then gave him an innocent smile. “The program or the kissing?” Then she winked at him before turning to hug Digg. 

Oh, she was going to kill him. In the best possible way. 

Digg hugged Felicity and whispered something in her ear, something that made her giggle as she pulled away. Then Digg was hugging him, patting him on the back. “You made the right choice,” Digg said quietly, reminding Oliver of their conversation in the car earlier. 

“It was the only one to make,” Oliver said as he stepped back from Digg, immediately reaching out to take Felicity’s hand again. 

“That’s how it should be,” Digg said, his hand resting on Oliver’s shoulder. “Come on, you two--start getting hydrated while we wait. Probably going to be a bit of a delay as they double-check the video replays.”

“How did it look to you, Digg?” Felicity asked between gulps of water.

Their coach’s face was impassive for a moment, and then a large smile split his face. “Perfect. I’ve never seen you two skate so well.” 

Oliver stole a quick glance at Felicity’s face, which was flushed and sweaty and completely beautiful, and gave her hand a squeeze. “That’s what I thought. We got the Diggle right, yeah?” 

“From my viewpoint, yeah,” Digg said. “But you never know how the judges are.” 

Letting his head fall back, Oliver blew out a breath, feeling the same stab of frustration at skating so well yet having his fate in someone else’s hands. 

Felicity gently nudged Oliver with her elbow. “Drink some water. No matter what the scores say, we skated like gold medalists and we can be proud of that.” 

“You are amazing,” Oliver said, turning his head to gaze at her. “How are you so smart?” 

She blushed and smiled at him, as Digg groaned and shoved a bottle of water into Oliver’s hand. “Now I’m glad you two took so long to figure this out, if this is how you’re gonna be.” 

“Jealous, Digg?” Oliver asked, taking a few long swallows. But before their coach could say anything, the public address system crackled to life. 

“The scores for Felicity Smoak and Oliver Queen are . . .”

Oliver had never understood figure skating scoring. He left that to Digg and Felicity. So as their scores were announced, he watched Felicity’s face. Saw her take in the numbers and do the math in her head. Watched the different emotions flicker across her face: uncertainty, confusion, doubt, disappointment, excitement.

When she looked at Digg and he nodded, Oliver knew they knew the results. “Well?” Oliver demanded, looking back and forth between them. 

“Silver.” Felicity’s voice was a bit choked.

“They probably didn’t count the lift-throw jump as a combination, which meant no bonus points for it. It’s not in the rule books, so they don’t have any way to reward you for it. But with the quad Lutz . . .” Digg said slowly. 

For a moment, Oliver felt his spirits sink. Because he had wanted Felicity to win gold. Wanted her to be able to walk away as the best. If she still wanted to retire. And he admitted, it would be nice to finally win gold. 

But he knew that Felicity didn’t love him because he helped her win gold. She loved him for himself. And that made him a winner, no matter what a bunch of judges thought.

“Hey,” he said softly, reaching out to cup Felicity’s face. “I still feel like gold.” He searched her face, hoping she realized what he was saying. 

She gave him a teary smile and nodded. “Me, too.” Then she hugged him tightly, burying her face against his neck, and Oliver hugged her back, hearing the crowd roar for them. 

Yet he could barely hear them over the pounding of his heart. Because they had just won a silver medal in the Olympics. And because he had Felicity. 

XXX

Once they’re both showered and changed into their Team USA uniforms--how did Felicity make sweatpants and a warm-up jacket look amazing?--they’re ushered into the press room with no time for even a kiss. But they can hold hands under the table, and he can smile at her all he wants. And the reporters and photographers ate up the dynamic between them, even though Oliver and Felicity silently agreed to deflect most of the questions about their relationship in favor of concentrating on their performance.

Although Felicity did get in a long babble about their costumes really suiting Oliver and how the Diggle was only possible because of his strength, “which you all know, because you’ve got eyes and can see his muscles. Because he’s got a lot of them and the costume certainly shows them off and--” 

The press really went crazy at that, and Oliver couldn’t help grinning at Felicity as she blushed. Then he turned to the mike and shrugged. “Felicity makes her costumes look damn good, so the sentiment goes double for me.” And that made Felicity blush harder, and even hide her face against his shoulder for a moment as he kept grinning, although he’s pretty sure the flashbulbs are making him go blind. 

By the time they get in the car, they’re both starting to crash, the adrenaline wearing off. Digg sat up front, driving them, while in the back seat, Oliver stretched his legs out and wrapped an arm around Felicity. She curled up against his side, her head on his chest. 

“My mom was so happy,” Felicity said sleepily, draping her arm over his waist. “So was my dad.” 

Oliver lifted his hand and stroked Felicity’s hair, touching the soft strands which have dried into gentle waves. “Yeah? Did you guys talk about what he said last night?” 

Felicity sighed softly. “A little. I know in a few days, I’ll be mad at him again. And I’m going to make him explain himself. But I didn’t want to do that tonight.” 

“Yeah,” he said, brushing a soft kiss over the top of her head. 

Lifting her head from his chest, Felicity rested her chin on his shoulder and gazed at his face. Oliver felt skittish for a moment, especially when he saw the depth of the emotions in Felicity’s eyes. But he held her gaze, savoring being open with her. Not having to hide anymore. 

Her fingers reached out and gently stroked along his stubble-covered jaw. “Remember the first night of Nationals?” 

He nodded, frowning a little in confusion. “Yeah . . . what part?” 

“Afterwards, when we were going back to our rooms?” 

Still not following her, Oliver nodded. “Okay.” 

“You said having to wait to skate the long--it was like foreplay?” Felicity prompted.

“Oh, yeah, right,” Oliver said, chuckling a little. 

Felicity smiled a little, before her face resumed her serious expression. “Ray and I had broken up already. We had a fight, earlier in the day. He was mad at me. Said I was always distracted now, but it was different from just being distracted by skating. He said--he said--” 

“Hey,” Oliver said, tucking some of her hair behind her ear, “you don’t have to talk about this. What was between you and Ray--you don’t have to explain what happened, you don’t owe me anything.” 

“I know,” she said softly. “I want to tell you this.” She hesitated, her fingers still stroking along his jaw. “Ray said it was like foreplay. Watching you and me together. That it just seemed like a matter of time until we’d . . . until we’d stop playing.” 

As her words sunk in, her shocked reaction at his offhand choice of words that night made sense. But he still wasn’t sure why she was telling him this now. Reaching up, he gently wrapped his fingers around hers and lifted them away from his jaw. He settled their hands on his chest before he spoke. “How . . . how did you take that?” 

She pursed her lips, and in any other situation Oliver would immediately kiss her. “Not well. I may have taken the ring off and thrown it at him, for implying I would cheat on him. Not that he was actually saying that--it was my own guilt talking. Because . . . deep down, I knew I didn’t love him. Not enough to marry him. But I didn’t know how to feel about you, so . . .” She shrugged her shoulders. 

Oliver pressed his lips to her temple, then rested his face there. “You know that me and Sara--” 

“I got an email from her earlier today,” Felicity said quietly. “She told me that it was a one-time thing. And that . . .” Felicity’s cheeks went pink, then she said in a rush, “That you weren’t thinking about her when you were together. She could tell.” 

Frowning, Oliver opened his mouth to ask her what she meant, when suddenly, the memory appeared in his mind, freed from whatever alcohol-induced block had been placed on it. The memory of calling Sara ‘Felicity’. He groaned and closed his eyes. “Oh my God.” 

Felicity’s voice was amused. “So that really happens? Guys actually say another girl’s name?” 

“When you’re completely in love with someone you think is totally out of reach--yeah, I guess so,” Oliver said, opening his eyes to look at her. 

Her eyelids fluttered and a small smile appeared on her face. “Well, I’m not out of reach now,” she said as she stretched up to kiss him. 

With a sigh, Oliver kissed her back. Unlike earlier, these kisses were slow and languid, like they had all the time in the world. Which they kind of did. 

He slid his hand along her jaw and tipped her head back, kissing her deeply as he stroked her hip, his fingers grazing the swell of her magnificent ass, when the car came to a stop. 

“You two better go somewhere private before I turn the hose on you,” Digg said from the front of the car. 

Felicity pulled away from Oliver with a jerk, her face flushed bright red. “Oh, Digg, I’m sorry--” 

“I’m not,” Oliver whispered in her ear, making her slap his shoulder. 

“Stop it,” she said, her face stern even as her eyes sparkled. “Digg doesn’t deserve it.” 

“Sorry, Digg!” he called out, hearing a snort from their coach as they got out of the car.

Once they were inside the house, Felicity turned to face him, her hands running up and down the front of his jacket. “I need to talk to my mom for a minute. Why don’t I meet you in your room?”

Was she saying . . .? Oliver felt his mouth go a little bit dry. “Is this when I say I’ll slip into something more comfortable?” he managed to ask, hoping the joke hid just how excited he was by what she might be saying. 

“I hope you’re comfortable naked, because that’s how I’d like you,” Felicity said, tugging him down for a long, deep, hot kiss. 

When she pulled away, she smirked up at him. “Do you need to reboot your brain?” 

“I--I think so,” Oliver said, blinking. “Wow. I like this.” 

“Me, too,” Felicity said, kissing him quickly. “Give me fifteen minutes top.” And with that, she was gone with a smile thrown back at him over his shoulder. 

XXX

So he wasn’t naked. Yet. But he was shirtless, and now he was just waiting for Felicity, who had definitely been gone longer than fifteen minutes. And he was starting to wonder just how this was going to work. 

He knew they needed to talk. Figure things out. And he thought just making out for a little while--some kissing, some touching--would be enough to hold him over. But right now . . . he just wanted Felicity. Wanted to touch her and hold her and make her feel how much he loved her. 

The sound of the door opening made him turn around quickly, to see Felicity slipping into the room. She had changed into a pair of yoga pants and a pink camisole, her shoulders and arms bare. He felt his fingers twitch with the desire to explore her smooth skin. 

“Hi,” she said softly, smiling at him. “Sorry, it took longer than I--” 

But she couldn’t say anything more, because Oliver had crossed the room so he could kiss her. And then he kept going until he had pinned her against the door. 

“You--you really like backing me up against flat surfaces,” Felicity muttered against his lips, her hands running over his pecs and abs with the fingers spread wide.

“Complaining?” he asked, kissing her neck and then sucking oh-so-lightly at the spot where her neck met her shoulders. 

“God, no--don’t stop,” she said breathlessly. “Oliver . . .” 

He slid his hands down to cup her ass, lifting her up a little. “We don’t have to do this tonight--we can wait,” he said, groaning as she wrapped her legs around him. 

“No waiting,” she said, her arms going around his neck as she kissed him. 

“Felicity,” he whispered against her lips, rocking his hips against her. 

“Why did I wear pants?!?” she said, squirming and wiggling until he was cross-eyed. Cross-eyed and laughing. 

Using one arm and his chest to pin her against the door, he slid his free hand under the edge of her top, stroking her stomach. “I wanna know why you wore a top. You’re killing me, Smoak.” 

“I thought you’d want to talk, Queen. Didn’t wanna distract you,” she panted. 

“We’ll talk after,” he promised, leaning in to kiss her deeply. 

The way she clutched at his shoulders and neck while rolling her hips against his made him wonder how he didn’t completely lose control. And then, when he realized he was sucking on her neck and making her moan, he knew he had lost control. 

“God, you’re so strong,” Felicity said when he got her top off with one hand.

He couldn’t help smirking at her as he leaned in to kiss her. She kissed him back, her hands everywhere, her scent everywhere, and he felt himself grow even harder. 

“Felicity--bed--”

“Nuh-huh. Right here, right now,” she insisted, pressing kisses to his face. “Need you.” 

So the first time they kissed was very romantic. A story they could tell anyone. But this--the first time they made love? It was a story just for them to begin with. 

Nobody else needed to know they made love for the first time against a door, sweat running down his back as he thrusted, Felicity gripping him so tightly, inside and out, and her gasps and sighs mixing with his grunts and whispered words. 

And all they said when they came was each other’s names. 

XXX

Groaning softly, Oliver moved closer to Felicity in bed, wrapping his arms around her. “Okay, so maybe sex against the door should have waited until tomorrow. AKA not the day we did the long program.” 

Felicity pursed her lips and gently rubbed his biceps. Then she leaned in to press soft kisses to the muscles of one arm. 

With a sigh, Oliver relaxed back against the bed. “That is so much better than the stinky balm Digg gave me.” 

“The one that smells like feet and cherries?” Felicity asked, wrinkling her nose. 

“Yep,” Oliver said, running his fingers through her hair. “Nice to know my mom was right when she said a kiss could make anything better.” 

She giggled softly and wiggled up so her face was by his. She lightly ran her fingers along his jaw, her face growing serious. “I’d like to meet her. Your mom, I mean. And your best friend--Tommy, right?” 

Oliver gazed at her. “Yeah, his name is Tommy. He’ll be glad I can finally answer his question.” 

Her eyebrows drew together. “What question?”

“When I went back to tell them about the figure skating, he asked me if my partner was hot,” Oliver said, letting his fingers slide up and down her spine. “I couldn’t tell him, because I didn’t know. I hadn’t let myself think about whether you were hot or not.” 

“That is so ridiculous,” Felicity said, pecking his lips. “I knew you were hot from the moment I laid eyes on you.” 

“Well, you’re the brains,” Oliver said, grinning at her. 

Rolling her eyes, she propped her head up on one hand. “Don’t dismiss yourself like that. You’re smart, too, Oliver.” 

He settled his hand on her waist, needing to touch her. “We could go for a visit. The whole city will go crazy, but at the bar, we’d be left alone. And Tommy would tell you a bunch of stories about me, and my mom--God, she’d love you.”

Felicity’s cheeks went pink and she smiled softly. “I’d really like that, Oliver.” 

“Then we’ll do it. In a few weeks--after it stops being quite so cold.”

“As long as you’re around to keep me warm, I don’t mind if it’s cold,” Felicity said, smiling at him. 

God, how did she do that? She made him feel so good about himself--not that she hadn’t done that before, but now that they were together . . . it felt so natural. 

“I didn’t realize how easy this would be,” Oliver said, rubbing his thumb against Felicity’s hip. “I spent so much time agonizing over my feelings, if I should tell you, how I should tell you . . . and now I don’t know why I wasted so much time.” 

“Because it wasn’t a waste,” Felicity said simply. “You told me when you were ready and the time was right.” 

“Two minutes before we went on the ice?” Oliver asked, quirking an eyebrow at her. 

She laughed softly and shrugged. “And honestly, telling me while I was with Ray, it wouldn’t have worked. No cheating. I feel very strongly about that.” 

“Me, too,” Oliver said, leaning in to kiss her softly. “I’ve never cheated.” 

“Mmmm, good,” Felicity said against his lips, shifting to slide her arms around his neck. She closed her eyes, snuggling in against him, as Oliver watched her. Marveling that she was here in his arms, in his bed. 

But for how long? 

Pressing his lips together, Oliver swallowed. “Felicity?” 

“Hmm?” she asked, slowly opening her eyes. “Yeah?” 

“Do you really want to retire?” 

She stiffened ever-so-slightly and Oliver rushed to explain himself. “I’m not asking for myself or because I’m worrying about what’s going to happen to me. I’m asking because whatever you decide, I’ll be happy with it, but I think if you’re gonna retire, you should be sure that there’s nothing left for you to do. No regrets, you know?” 

A strange kind of silence fell between them as they looked at each other. Felicity’s face was screwed up in thought and Oliver wouldn’t let himself say anything more. He didn’t want to influence her decision--he hoped she realized how serious he was about this, about her. If she wanted to keep skating, he would be her partner. If she wanted to retire and go to MIT, he’d be by her side. If that was what she wanted. He knew he couldn’t skate with anyone else, but he was content with what he had achieved in the last year and a half. Sure, a gold medal would be nice. 

But a gold medal couldn’t love him back like Felicity could. 

He was so lost in his thoughts, it took Felicity touching him to shake off the cobwebs. And then he realized where she was touching: just under his right eye, her thumb stroking his skin slowly. 

“It’s this eye, right?” she asked softly. 

Oliver nodded slowly, feeling his heart clench in his chest. He didn’t want to make this about him, didn’t mean for his injury to affect her choice. 

“Maybe . . . maybe I could just take a break. Maybe we both could,” she said in a voice just above a whisper. “The year after the Olympics is always quiet, competition-wise, and--and spending the hours and hours I’d normally spend with you, going to movies or having dinner together or in bed--that is so much more attractive a proposition than spending all that time in a rink. And after the year was over, we could decide together.” 

“Really?” he asked, staring at her. 

Felicity nodded, her eyes never leaving his. “I could take classes at MIT . . . we could get an apartment together.” 

A slow smile began growing on his face. “My dad always wanted me to play hockey for Harvard. I could at least make Harvard happen, if they don’t take one look at my transcripts from UM and laugh so loud we can hear them from here.”

An answering smile appeared on her face. “Two campus libraries to study in. And make out in.” 

“You are definitely the genius,” Oliver said, bringing his hand up to cup her face as he kissed her deeply. 

She giggled against his lips, moving into his arms. When he rolled onto his back, Felicity broke away with a gasp. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too,” he said softly, smiling up at her. “Now c’mere.” 

“So bossy--that’s new,” Felicity said, straddling his hips. 

“Not bossy,” he contradicted. “I just know what I want.” 

Giving her hair a toss, Felicity stroked his chest. “And what do you want?” she asked. But instead of sounding flirtatious or snarky, she sounded . . . he couldn’t put his finger on it. All he knew was there was only one answer to give her. 

“You,” he said, reaching up and drawing her down slowly into his arms. He kissed her, gently sliding his tongue into her mouth and savoring the slow build-up. 

Skating might have brought them together. But love was going to keep them together. And Oliver Queen wasn’t ever going to let her forget that.

Her stepfather might not have wanted to give her his name. But someday, Oliver knew he was going to make Felicity a Queen. 

End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that’s it. I would bet a lot of you would want to see the continuing adventures of Oliver and Felicity, whether they keep skating and try for gold or retire and do the college thing. I don’t know if I’ll want to return to this universe, but just know that I had a complete and utter blast writing this fic. 
> 
> At least Oliver and Felicity had sex up against a door? :-) 
> 
> Thank you to everyone for reading!


End file.
